


Storyline

by bricksandbones



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Character Death, Codependency, Implied/Referenced Domestic Violence, Implied/Referenced Self-Injury, Mental Health Issues, Other, Substance Abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-22
Updated: 2015-11-15
Packaged: 2018-03-31 18:51:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 16
Words: 24,819
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3988879
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bricksandbones/pseuds/bricksandbones
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A series of musings on what might have happened to the Slytherins if the Harry Potter universe were a darker place. Alternatively: the Life and Times of Astrid Larsson.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Scenario 1

**Author's Note:**

> Plot is not my strong point - I'd like to apologise in advance. Also I need to work out something better for the chapter headings. The idea is that you should be able to follow the story of each character by reading the chapters with their names, in that order - but I don't really think it's working.

Theo and Astrid often sleep in the same bed as if grafted together. Astrid would never dream of touching him when awake – but she is perfectly aware that Theo sometimes crawls into her bed at night, especially when there is thunder, and that when he does so they often end up tangled in the sheets, dreaming the same dreams.

Astrid would never admit to it, but sometimes she looks forward to waking up with her head buried in the crook of his neck. She likes that her subconscious allows her to do in her sleep what her conscious self would never permit.

After all, Theo is human and therefore dangerous.

* * *

 

She does not mind Malfoy. Draco (as she sometimes thinks of him, though more often he appears in her mind as an indefinite broken mass of anger and white-blond hair and inadequacy) is like steel at absolute zero – treacherously sharp, strong but oddly brittle and fragile. He is hurt, and hurtful, but she knows what to expect – almost. There are days when being near him results in nightmares for the two people in her bed, but some days she goes to sleep feeling pleasantly needed.

Most days, though, Malfoy doesn’t respond. His moments of lucidity are growing infrequent and sometimes it is all she can do for him to hold his hand. She doesn’t mind those days. Those days, he is calm and placid and easy to deal with. She does not have to strap him to a wheelchair and force Calming Draughts down his throat. She does not have to shut him out of the bedroom because he refuses like a child to understand that the bed is hers now, and sometimes Theo’s, and that he does not sleep in it, or with her, any more.

She misses sleeping in between the both of them as they used to do at school, when safety was truly only in numbers. But Draco is not the same now – he refuses to sleep beneath the sheets (“How do you escape when you’re trapped by the sheets?”) or to allow them to be messed up (“No, you musn’t lie there!” – frantically). Furthermore, on his bad days, when he is as needy as a small child, Draco sometimes wets the bed.

She doesn’t let herself think that he might be doing it on purpose. Because whether or not he is sane, Draco is a Malfoy. She doesn’t believe for a minute that he wants to be dragged off to the bathroom and given a tongue-lashing by Theo (who is always the one to do it, because Astrid sleeps like the dead).

She discards all her assumptions about Malfoy’s concern for his dignity the morning Draco falls to his knees and hugs her legs to try and prevent her leaving for work. Theo is disgusted.

But the three of them stand by each other.

* * *

 

The rest of the world is frankly amazed at how easily Astrid seems to be able to live with Malfoy. She agrees that it is easy – she loves him and his responses are, she thinks, unpredictable but fairly limited in their range. And she enjoys his rare moments of lucidity, when he is again the stubborn, sarcastic, sometimes caustic young man determined to survive against all odds. It doesn’t hurt that his intelligence and rather extensive magical knowledge have never completely left him. Sometimes she gets answers out of him, and sometimes she doesn’t, but she has found that he remembers if asked often enough and that his answers are generally interesting.

She doesn’t mind the way he seems constantly starved for physical contact and is always touching her, sometimes affectionately, often absently, sometimes desperately. He says the most hurtful things in the world when his eyes are brilliant with unshed tears and he is clutching her hand as if imploring her forgiveness for the words he can’t control. And sometimes, on his good days, he wraps his arms around her from behind and kisses her hair.

But his good days are few and far between and his touches are becoming more desperate and more painful. She says she doesn’t mind, but she sometimes has to bite her lip to stop herself crying out when he grasps her hand now. And she no longer takes him out for fear that the public will ask for St. Mungo’s to take him away because they think he is hurting her.

Draco has not left the house in years.

* * *

 

Theo has never been close to Draco Malfoy, but he appreciates the value of loyalty. Purebloods stand by family, and they are the only family that any of them has now – Theo’s parents are dead, Draco’s father languishes in Azkaban (his mother committed suicide some years ago), and Astrid has given up her blood family in favor of this one. The trade is worth it to her because Theo and Draco stand by her more strongly than her own blood relatives ever will; being kin to a pureblood guarantees their loyalty to an extent that Muggles and half-bloods never understand. And that is what they are to each other now.

So Theo is proud of Astrid for feeling this intangible magical bond between the three of them as strongly as if she were full-blooded. He is proud of her unquestioning love and unerring sense of duty – Lucius Malfoy could not have asked more of her than she does herself.

Sometimes, though, he wonders if there is something more. He wonders why he is allowed to sleep in her bed when she won’t even touch him at any other time of day. He wonders why Malfoy is allowed to watch her, to touch her, to kiss her (even if it is only her hair) but is never allowed anywhere in the vicinity of her bedroom.

He knows it is not just about the bed-wetting. Astrid doesn’t really care whether Draco wets the bed; she sleeps through it and charms the bedding clean in the morning. It is Theo who gets woken up because of it – but he has no right to complain and he knows it, because it is not his bed.

So he wonders.

* * *

He loses his inclination to wonder one day when he walks in on Draco pressing Astrid against the kitchen counter, dangerously close to the lit stove. He really loses it when he catches sight of Astrid’s wand lying under the kitchen table, too far away to do her any earthly good if she were to get any closer to the fire.

He breaks an unwritten rule when he Stuns Malfoy and locks him in his room with a spell: Malfoy hasn’t had a wand since St. Mungo’s certified him unfit to practice magic (although the odd freak magical accident occurs now and then) and so no-one is allowed use magic against him in their house.

And he can tell that Astrid is somehow angry with him for it even though she is clearly shaken from having been so periliously close to burning.

* * *

Astrid doesn’t even look at Theo before she rushes to Malfoy’s room and performs a quick Alohomora and Ennervate. The Draco Malfoy who stares back at her is very different from the one of a few minutes prior.

This is the Draco Malfoy who existed only briefly, between Malfoy’s transition from his former sarcastic self to what he is today. This is the sensitive, gentle one; the one she fell in love with. This is every good impulse Malfoy has ever suppressed turned into a human being.

She loves him so much, but this version of Malfoy is so much more human than the one she is used to dealing with, so much more capable of feeling hurt simply because he has yet to be hurt beyond repair – and it scares her.

It scares her more than thunder and darkness and fire and the notion of blood ties and _family_. It scares her more than an Unforgivable ever would because at least Unforgivables are not Unpredictable. It scares her more than Voldemort and Death Eaters and Aurors and Gryffindors and meddling Psychological Healers. In fact, it scares her so much that she rushes out of Draco’s room into Theo’s and crawls into his lap.

The contact alone is indicative of her distress.

Theo is glad to simply hold her without asking any questions about why.

It is the thing she really loves about Theo, she thinks. He always answers his own questions. Even if his answers are often wrong, this practice of his usually saves her a lot of trouble.

* * *

They sleep together in Theo’s bed that night, but they do not share dreams. Theo’s sleep is undisturbed by any shadowy imaginings.

Astrid, on the other hand, spends the night plagued with nightmares that are more terrifying for not really being nightmares; she dreams, over and over again, several versions of her present and future. She sees (or thinks she sees) what life could have been like if she had been a Ravenclaw, if she had married a Gryffindor like her sister has, if Draco were not so broken and Theo not the things that make him Theo.

She wakes up glad that Theo is holding her securely against him. There is so little room for movement that the world seems small, and safe, and predictable again. There are no possibilities other than the one directly before her and no point in thinking about anything except going back to sleep, because Theo is stronger than she is even in his sleep and it would be cruel to wake him at half-past three.

She does sleep, and her dreams are crueler than ever, and when she wakes again Theo is gone. The bed seems shockingly empty. She feels bereft.

* * *

It is half-past ten, and Astrid thanks Merlin silently that it is a Sunday, because Sunday is Theo’s day to do the groceries and so she has an hour more at least before she needs to deal with the awkwardness that is sure to result from the day before.

She has an hour more before she has to face the questions _“What are we going to do about Malfoy?”_ and _“What now?”_

Astrid doesn’t like questions, or being questioned. Especially about the things that matter.

* * *

It is eleven, and Malfoy – Draco? – has come into the kitchen. Astrid looks up from the stove to smile at him, but at the same time that she is smiling she is turning off the gas and reaching into her pocket for her wand.

It seems that Draco is lucid today, because his eyes follow her hand, and they are sad.

She has seen that look before, during the war and during their last years in Hogwarts when they were doing no more or less than fighting for their lives, and she associates it with things that are worse than death.

And so, because she doesn’t know what else to do, she widens her smile so much it hurts and goes to make him coffee. She has learnt over the years that making food for the boys is one of the best excuses to avoid eye contact.

But Draco didn’t survive Voldemort and House Gryffindor by being oblivious and he comes behind her, slender fingers coming to rest lightly on the wrist of her wand hand.

She knows, although she knows she shouldn’t, that it would be the easiest thing on earth for him to reach just that bit lower and snap her wand if he really wanted to; the stick of yew was thin to begin with and has gone brittle just as she has. It would be easier for him just to take it.

She wonders momentarily what it would feel like not to have a wand, but she can’t imagine it and never could; it is unthinkable. Magic is in her blood.

She feels a pang then for Draco, who has no wand and whose blood, pure as Salazar’s, is singing with so much magic that she can feel him.

Draco catches the look in her eye, half-wary, half-dreamy, slightly pained, and that is a look he knows well too: it is the look she has always had since she, a half-blood, sat down at the table of House Slytherin. She has always been wary and dreamy and in pain, but the amount of pain and wariness has increased over the years and he thinks it is almost at its peak now.

He has only himself to blame, he thinks. Not even a Gryffindor would have done what he did the day before.

She would not think even a Gryffindor capable of taking her wand from her – she would not believe that they, who have so much courage and comparatively so little magic, would think it reasonable to deprive another – but she believes it of Draco.

He is a pureblood, and a Slytherin, and most of all a Malfoy; cruel even when he thinks he is being kind.

But because Astrid loves him, and because he is family, and because she figures he can’t hurt her any worse than she has sometimes imagined he would (and because it has been a long time since she has been really hurt and she wants to remember it, maybe) she relaxes and tugs her hand away, both from him and from the wand, and turns to give him a hug.

Actual hugs are not a common occurrence between them these days.

“Missed you,” she murmurs into his shoulder. “You don’t know how much.”

He smiles then, and pats her hair, not knowing what to say.

“I can’t thank you enough,” he whispers back. “For everything you’ve done.”

“Is that a Malfoy I hear?” she teases gently. He feels the dampness of tears soaking through his shirt. She is laughing, but crying at the same time, and on an impulse he scoops her up and carries her into their sitting room.

He puts on one of those Muggle DVDs she and Theo have fallen in love with and tucks her in on the couch.

“I’ll finish up,” he tells her, and although she has not trusted him to do anything around the house for a long time, she believes him then.

* * *

It is the quietest but also, she thinks, the best lunch they have ever had. Draco cannot cast any household spells, but it doesn’t matter because unlike her and Theo, the man can actually cook.

The boys watch her with something resembling amusement.

Astrid rarely eats much, but she is intent on her food. When she is eating, everything and everyone else around her ceases to exist. And today, she seems even more absorbed than usual. She cuts her lasagna into bite-sized pieces and spears them with ruthless efficiency, dabbing her mouth daintily and reaching for her glass every few mouthfuls.

When she has speared the last bit of lasagna on her fork and set it on her plate, she leans back abruptly with a contented sigh. Theo’s lasagna lies before him like a heap of rubble and Draco is halfway through his third glass of wine but nowhere near finishing his food.

He doesn’t even _like_ lasagna. She marvels at just how little he has eaten.

* * *

Astrid is washing up when Theo sits down in one of the chairs in the kitchen.

“Reckon this is one of his good days.”

She hums noncommittally, because she is hoping a good day will stretch into two, or three, or if they are unusually lucky, a week.

The people at St. Mungo’s say that Draco has regressed into a childlike, blank, pliant state because he has been through too much and he feels safer there.

She thinks about his childhood at Malfoy Manor and doesn’t believe a word of it because nothing that reminded him of days spent in that place could make him feel any safer.

She does believe, though, that maybe the effort of suppressing it all has caught up to him and he has run out of energy and mental space to actually function.

“Do you feel safe around him?” Theo asks. He asks softly and as gently as possible because he knows she hates being questioned.

“When he’s like this.”

“Normally?”

“…No. I was never really scared before, but I think, after yesterday…”

Her hands have stilled in the soapy sink water and she has curled in upon herself, half because of anxiety and half to shield herself from his gaze.

“It might be better if we check him into St. Mungo’s,” he suggests tentatively. “Just for a while.”

She laughs then, the kind of wild laughter he associates with Bellatrix Lestrange.

“People like that don’t go to St. Mungo’s for ‘a while’, sweetheart. Darling Theo,” she says, looking at him almost pityingly. “You know that, don’t you, Theo? I know you know that.”

When she rinses her hands clean and leaves, with the sink still half-full of crockery, he wonders if the fragile thread binding the three of them – and her – together hasn’t broken at last.

The door to her room is not locked, but it is spelled with a stunningly complex string of runic sigils involving several gruesome verb objects and conditional clauses, and he decides to leave well alone.

* * *

When Theo gets up on Monday morning, Astrid is gone.

She has taken nothing, apparently, other than her purse of change and her wand. He doesn’t know if she is gone for good or if she has merely left for work early in order to avoid him.

He does know, however, that he doesn’t know what to do with himself, or more importantly with Malfoy. It has always been Astrid who has cared for him; making sure that he eats and sleeps and bathes; giving him small things to do to try and impose some sort of structure and normalcy on his life.

He knocks on the door to Malfoy’s room and hopes to a god he has no intention of believing in that he is having a good day.


	2. Scenario 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Scorpius Malfoy up to his seventh year at Hogwarts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, I posted this (relatively) unedited and it's come to my attention that the tenses are a bit wonky. Doing exams at the moment but will fix later!

            Scorpius' father had married his mother as a result of a longstanding agreement between the two pureblood houses, made before the Malfoy name had turned into mud and the Greengrasses had fallen into poverty.

            There had been no love lost between them, and when they had produced a child who had Draco's white-blond hair and Astoria's green eyes - well, that had been the end of that. They had separated, then divorced, although Astoria continued to live in the manor. Draco let her - with how busy he was trying to restore the Malfoy family name and fortune, he was so little around that it didn't matter.

            His father, constantly preoccupied but vaguely encouraging whenever he remembered, had left Scorpius to the care of his mother. In practice, this meant that he had been left in the care of his house-elves with his father’s cats for company, while Astoria Greengrass sued her ex-husband for every Knut she could get.

* * *

 

            When he was not very old, his Aunt Astrid – not really his aunt – had swooped down upon their household, nose wrinkled in disgust, and set it to order.

            That is to say, she'd packed Scorpius’s mother off, sent his father on holiday, and settled herself down to the task of teaching one Scorpius Malfoy everything she knew and everything he wanted to know about magic.

            It was under her guidance that he learnt the French and Latin that were to serve him so well in his future years. “There is always a spell, if you know the right words,” she’d said _._ (He had felt a faint pang of envy when she mentioned that his father had tutored _her._ )

            It was almost inevitable that between French and Arithmancy, he discovered that his name was “Malfoy – _mal foi; bad faith_ ”.

* * *

 

            His godfather Theo used to say that it was a minor miracle his father was still alive.

 

            Until he'd entered Hogwarts, Scorpius had never understood precisely what that meant. In their own way, his parents had done their best to shelter him. Trapped on the vast estate, he'd had little opportunity to interact with other children and the adults and house-elves in charge of his upbringing had clearly adored him. He had never been bullied; never been subjected to another's malicious whims.

            And as a Malfoy, oh, he was bullied. It was even worse that he'd been sorted into Ravenclaw, not Slytherin - his parents didn't seem to mind, and he thought Aunt Astrid had heaved a sigh of relief (though it was hard to tell over the Floo) - but now he had to contend with being mocked about that, too.

            "You're not even a _proper_ Death Eater, are you?" a tall, red-headed Gryffindor taunts, shoving him on the way to the Great Hall. "I bet your Daddy's disappointed. In fact, I bet he beats you, is that why you're so quiet? Like a little mouse!"

            He thinks it's the accusation against his pale, harried father that hurts most of all. 

 

            He doesn't mention it in his letters. He's learnt that his guardians are something like minor legends in the immediate post-war history of Hogwarts. Slytherin has reinvented itself to be about power rather than purity, and it's from Stella Zabini that he hears the founding myth of how three people had duelled half of Gryffindor by the Lake one cold, clear morning and - shockingly - _won_.

            He has no doubt that the story has been embellished over time, as stories of such sentimental value often are - but it isn't so far fetched as to be implausible. Having received most of his early education at the hands of Aunt Astrid and Uncle Theo, he's borne witness to their stunningly complex nonverbal spells and fluency in ancient magic and conditional clauses.

 

            “You pronounce incantations like your father did,” Professor Longbottom commented one day.

            Scorpius didn’t quite understand, because his father’s spells were like an entirely foreign language, full of elisions and shortcuts and the odd conditional clause in a place nobody else had thought to put them before.

            “As if they come to you as easily as breathing,” the Professor supplied, seeing his confusion.

            “Oh,” Scorpius said. Then, “They don’t.”

            He very much doubted that they had come easily to his father, either. In fact, as he grew older, he increasingly suspected that daily life in general cost his father a great deal. It was never mentioned, but a great many of the potions his father brewed were for himself, and his mother wrote, annoyed, about the frequent visits his aunt and godfather made to the manor even now that Scorpius was at Hogwarts.

            "Don't be upsetting your dad," Aunt Astrid had used to remind him whenever she was leaving. "And if you bait him, you'll hear from me," she would warn his mother, in a tone she never used with him.

* * *

            So Scorpius doesn't tell anyone about it for fear of adding to their worries or being a disappointment. He buries himself in books and learns all the spells and counter-spells he can. He becomes the star of the Duelling Club, and gets top marks in Defence Against the Dark Arts. He'd have done better to devote some of that time to studying Charms, but he passes that anyway. He gets nine OWLs (two 'O's, 3 'E's and 5 'A's) and doesn't know whether anyone is proud of him.

            He gets in enough fights that he's passed over to be a prefect, which he tells himself is just as well. Aunt Astrid sends him some of Uncle Theo's books - Muggle paperbacks! - when he's "old enough", and it completely demolishes the dour, strait-laced image he'd constructed of the man (despite being his godson, Scorpius is scared to death of him and therefore doesn't know him very well). He learns that Uncle Theo is capable of being not only dark, but also a little bit ridiculous.

            In sixth year, he learns he was never alone at Hogwarts when two of his housemates visit him in the infirmary after he takes a fall down a moving staircase.

            "You were always civil, Malfoy. And you helped me out in Potions, remember? You're really good at Potions, suppose you must be since your dad is a Potions Master and all," says a dark-haired boy called Alistair McNeill. "You're a sound bloke, and I'm sorry that happened to you."

            Ned Hawley adds, "Only, you always looked like there was something on your mind, and we didn't know how to talk to you."

             It says a great deal about Scorpius that he knows instantly they must be Muggle-born, or at the very least half-bloods. There are no old wizarding families called McNeill or Hawley.

            It doesn't bother him in the least.

* * *

 

            Over the summer of sixth year, Aunt Astrid and Uncle Theo introduce him to Muggle London. He meets Theodore's partner of eight years: a tall, blond Muggle man with an easy smile, who knows about the magic but doesn't understand their history.

            When he realises that she's never had to introduce him to anyone, he begins to understand that Aunt Astrid is lonely.

* * *

 

            He gets five NEWTs, all 'Exceeds Expectations'. His aunt writes him "Well done!" on a photo postcard from Ethiopia, where she's working on magical infrastructure for some opal mines. She's comically red and Scorpius is worried that she'll get something called 'skin cancer', which he's heard about from his Muggleborn friends. He's pleased in spite of it: it's the first time she's left the country since he's known her. Uncle Theo sends him a signed copy of his latest book, complete with a magical photograph on the back cover that makes funny faces (that photo was used only for a special run, he'll later learn).

            His father actually shows up for his graduation, wearing velvet robes of emerald and silver that, for once, aren't splattered with potion stains.

             "Well done, son," he says as he clasps Scorpius ' arm. He looks wearied but pleased, and when Scorpius looks closely he notes that his father has creases on his forehead, poorly hidden by the tufts of blond hair he now brushes forwards - but no laughter lines in the corners of his eyes. Scorpius has a Polaroid camera, a novelty from the London trip, and Ned uses it to take a photo of them together. Despite the family resemblance in their blond hair and pale skin, they actually don't look much alike.

             His father palms the photo, smiling and tracing Scorpius' hair where it falls across his face.

            "You've better sense than I did," and Scorpius thinks he is talking about life in general, not merely the hair.

* * *

 

            He speaks to his mother separately on the other side of the Great Hall.

             "You've turned out well," she says almost grudgingly. "I should've looked after you better, Scorpius."

             He shrugs.

            "What's done is done."

* * *

 

            He makes a slow circuit of the room with his mates, congratulating people he's never spoken to in his delirium. He goes as far as to shake Rose Weasley's hand and is surprised by the lack of bitterness in her eyes.

            When he throws his arms around Ned and Al for their photo, his father smiling at him from behind a Muggle contraption, he feels a rush of something suspiciously like triumph.

 

           

 

           

 


	3. Astrid I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What Astrid needs.

            There are times when Astrid feels, unreasonably perhaps, that's she's been left behind. Theo and Draco have grown up - even if they're both still running, in their own ways - and there are times when she doesn't feel like she knows them at all.

            At least Scorpius still writes to her, although she knows instinctively that her little boy is holding things back, growing up and away from her like everyone else. She misses his wide green eyes, sad but still unguarded before he'd left for Hogwarts; misses the tow-headed child who'd called her "'Stri" before he'd been old enough to pronounce her name. It's not something Scorpius would ever admit to now.

            The new peace developing between different factions of the wizarding community is simultaneously a relief and a disappointment. She no longer feels like a liar or a supplicant when she gives out her (very Muggle) last name, knowing that it expresses something contrary to her most important loyalties. She's moved to tears when her estranged sister invites her to her nephew's christening.

            At the same time, she finds it difficult to let go of her own measure of bitterness. Fear and hatred are simple. It had been, and always would be, a straightforward decision to protect her own people. It was more difficult to re-evaluate who they were.

 

            She tries her hardest to get on with Travis. She doesn't quite believe Theo is in love. But she understands the attraction - he's a lover, not a fighter, just like her Theo; he cares without stifling him with protectiveness. Why would he feel the need? Conflict is a distant concept to him. It's something that happens in the Middle East. He doesn't know the sorts of things they've done. He's never met Draco on a bad day. Travis is like a cup of caramel hot chocolate: warm and reassuring, fuel for Theodore's denial. If there's one thing Astrid understands, it's that people take what they can get and do what they must to stay sane. So she doesn't taunt Travis about his passivity, doesn't sneer at their cupboard of a flat, knits him sweaters like she does all her boys. And if she wards their flat - well, Theo will pretend he hasn't noticed.

            Astrid is perfectly aware that being the only female in their close-knit group confers certain privileges. She's the "aunty", the mother hen; she's the one who's allowed to descend on Malfoy manor in a protective rage when Astoria steps too far out of line. 

            A misplaced sense of chivalry also means that they coddle her, in their own way: Theo and Draco have never called her on that closely-guarded part of herself that desperately needs to be needed.

 

            She has no-one else, and so she abuses these privileges with impunity.


	4. Draco I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Game, or how Scorpius' guardianship arrangements come about.

            The year Scorpius turns three, Draco is forcibly reminded of the old adage that it takes a village to raise a child.

      

* * *

            He isn't expecting it when Astrid shows up at his apothecary with a face like thunder.

            "Aren't you supposed to be in Siberia?" he asks, nonplussed. Astrid has a first-class diploma in Magical Construction and a newly-discovered interest in mines - he is personally convinced that she is chasing danger.

            She casts a scornful look at the potion ingredients he's been preparing and wordlessly Side-Alongs him from his apothecary to the Manor grounds. Scorpius is having another of his escapades. This time, he's chasing albino peacocks, chubby legs pumping furiously while three house-elves wring their hands on the sidelines.

            Astoria, unsurprisingly, is nowhere to be found. She's made no secret of the fact that she would have broken their engagement had the Greengrasses' finances been less dire than the Malfoys' reputation after the war. She has little fondness for her son; he reminds her too much of his father.

            Draco blames himself. He had been arrogant and cruel in his early youth, and then too much of a wreck to do his duty.

* * *

 

            He's jerked back to the present moment by Astrid's furious squeal as Scorpius chases the peacocks right towards them in his excitement to see his father.

            "Pa!" he cries. "Up, up!" He's not old enough yet to know what the rest of the wizarding world thinks of his father; not nearly old enough to know he should see his father more than a couple of times a week, or to expect Draco to do more than pick him up and give him sweets.        

            "There you are, Scorpius." He hoists his son up onto his hip. "Have you met Aunty Astrid yet?"

            "'Stri?" Scorpius says, reaching his chubby arms out. "Pwetty lady!" he exclaims.

            "Why thank you, Scorpius," Astrid replies, shaking one of his small hands.

            "Up," Scorpius insists. He doesn't know what a handshake is, yet.

            Astrid obliges, wincing slightly at the mass of squirming toddler. Scorpius tugs on her hair.

            "Are you old?" he asks, because Astrid's yellow-blond hair is streaked with grey.

            "I'm thirty-two," she informs him, and Draco watches as his son's green eyes grow round.

* * *

            "Chasing peacocks!" she hisses later, while Scorpius is busy playing trains on the nursery floor. "He could get hurt! The boy's practically a savage! And of course the house-elves can't deny him anything - is that any way for a child to grow up?" she demands. "You'd think that woman would do her job," she mutters.

            "Astoria is my wife, not a nanny," Draco points out gently.

            Astrid raises an eyebrow. "She's your wife, is she? That's not what I hear from the Ministry."

            "We're separated," he retorts primly.

            "And we know where that's going, don't we?" she counters. "In any case - she's his _mother._ And _you,_ Theo says you've been cooped up in that apothecary brewing potions for twelve hours every day."

            Draco's frankly surprised that Theodore's bothered to keep tabs on his activities. Although, he supposes, Nott would do anything for Astrid. 

            "It's work. What do _you_ do for a living, eh?"

            "I know," she sighs, flapping her hands. "I climb down mine shafts eight hundred metres into the ground with a bunch of men I don't trust as far as I could throw them." 

            "But," she continues. "That's not happening right now. I'm staging an _intervention,_ Malfoy."

            He winces at the use of his last name. More importantly, however -

            "You're not taking him away from me," he says, resolute.

            "Of course I'm bloody not!" Astrid exclaims. "No, seeing as you obviously need a nanny, I think I know just the person for it."

            "Don't you be teaching him any Unforgivables," he snipes, understanding that she means herself.

            She glares darkly at him.

            "That was a low blow, Draco."

            He breathes out slowly through his nose.

            "I know. You only want the best for him. I know."

* * *

 

            " _You're_ backing her up on this?" he demands incredulously. "You don't even like children."

            Theodore glances at him through dark lashes, muddling his fruit cocktail. The three of them are seated in a Muggle bar, having long ago discovered that social activities are easier without the shadow of the Dark Mark hanging over them.

            "I don't want to interfere with your life, believe me," he drawls, "but if I'd known you were letting the boy be raised by _house-elves_... Well, I'd have done something sooner."

            "What have you got against house-elves, now?"

            "Nothing. Except that they can't say no, and children need to be told that now and again."

            Draco remembers that Theo's mother had died while he was young and just what sort of a man his father had been. He imagines Theo walking, forlorn, through the corridors of his old home, and even more so through the corridors of Hogwarts because there had been other people there.

            Astrid leans against the wall, placid. She doesn't say anything. She doesn't need to.

            Draco's worked out over the years that, although her affection for them is real, it is only as real as the elaborate game they play. She arranges their pieces 'for their own good' and they let her, because they owe her; she's seen to it. That's the truth, even if she always means well.

            In bringing Theo, she had been playing her ace. Scorpius will doubtless be better off for it.


	5. Theo I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Theo and Astrid go back 'further than anyone'.

            Theo tutors Astrid from her third year (his fourth), mainly because she asks. He is so used to being invisible that he is flattered to be noticed, even if the idea also unsettles him.

            'Larsson' is a name so foreign to the wizarding community that it's clear they must not be far from Muggleborn. It seems strange to him that, in spite of this, he does know her family. He knows of her sister, at least, a yellow-haired Ravenclaw, who casts him glances that are alternately disdainful and appreciative.

            Astrid, he recognises her from the library. She's the girl with the wildly curly, brassy hair, who usually takes the nook opposite his and seems able to haul her body weight in books. She bears a striking resemblance to her sister Annabel - except that Annabel's hair is marginally less unfortunate and that Astrid is more guarded, beaten down by years of prejudice.

            He agrees to it knowing full well that he risks being branded a blood traitor by Malfoy's _cohort._ He tries not to overthink it; his family is old enough and Theo himself sufficiently intimidating that the Slytherins at Hogwarts generally grant him _carte blanche._ He hopes it is one more rebellion he will get away with.

            He comes in later years to be glad of it. It feels at times that Astrid is his only friend and he hers. He knows, rationally, that they are much more involved than they should be, but he finds himself unable to stop it. Astrid has a scalding temper - easy come, easy go - that amuses him and he manages to forget that the Sorting Hat doesn't sort people without good reason.

            She seems the epitome of a half-blooded Slytherin: not the real thing.

           

* * *

 

            Personally, Theo thinks it a shame that Hermione Granger has been dubbed the most intelligent witch of their generation. No one speaks, of course, about who the most intelligent wizard might be, or even questions the validity of that previous statement - it would be anathema to the wizarding world's myopic, Potter-centred vision. She's very good, of course, and especially for a Muggleborn - not because blood has anything to do with it, but because the rest of them have had eleven years on her in terms of their experience of magic. For that same reason, however, Theo is certain that Hermione Granger has never arrived at an answer that he hasn't already known.

 

            As the sole heir of the house of Nott (and, more importantly perhaps, as his mother's son), he's been expected from an early age to embody perfection.

 

            But of course, he's an adept at keeping his head down.

 

* * *

 

            When Dumbledore passes, Theo has to make a decision. He cannot go home, and he cannot be found at Hogwarts minus a Dark Mark if he wants to live. Going on the run is an option, but instead he decides to hide in plain sight - he knows Hogwarts castle as well as anyone, and the Carrows are stupid; far less likely to discover him than the rest of his father's "friends". There remains the issue of the Headmaster, but Snape is shifty and smart and Theo reckons he has far bigger things to worry about than one stray Death Eater's son.

            He changes in secret and manages to spend a month undetected, hunting mice - _disgusting -_ before Argus Filch hauls him up by the scruff of his neck and decides that he would make a good "friend" for Mrs Norris, who is "getting on". Mrs Norris is more intelligent than cats are given credit for and sees right through him. She spends two days hissing and scratching at him - it's a minor miracle that Filch doesn't understand her message - before Astrid kidnaps him out of Filch's office.

            "I've been _looking_ for you," she scolds later in the dormitory, tugging his whiskers gently in reproach. "Well, what are we going to call you then?" she asks, eyes glinting with mischief. "'Bear' would quite give the game away, I think. What about 'Whiskers'? You do have awfully many."

            He hisses, upset about having been so easily recognised.

            "I've seen you before," she informs him. "Near the kitchens, practising catching mice? You later reappeared in the Owlery, very conveniently indeed, with freshly-killed mice for Tiberius. I thought you didn't want anyone to know, since you didn't mention it, but good thing I figured it out, eh?"

 

            She doesn't mention that cat-Theo has streaks of lighter hair around his neck and forearms, just like the faint scars Theo has which are only obvious in sunlight.

 

* * *

 

            Theo spends most of what should have been his seventh year in his Animagus form, curled around Astrid's shoulders. She establishes a formidable reputation that year for Unforgivable curses and all manner of battle spells. Annabel shies away from her in disdain. Astrid shrugs it off and teaches a few defence spells to another couple of half-bloods. She's doing more than brown-nosing; she's fighting this war for her own people, in her own way. She stares too long at the graffiti on the wall - "still recruiting" - but stays well away from known members of Dumbledore's Army.

            "I'm sorry," he tells her one evening, safe in the Room of Requirement. He doesn't say, _for making you choose._ He reckons she'll understand him if she wants to.

            "I'm not," she retorts. "I'm your friend."

            He quirks a smile. "I'm much indebted."

            "Well, s'why I'm doing this, right?" she says. He wants to believe that it's in jest.

            "You know," he muses. "I see now why you were sorted into Slytherin."

            "Only now?"

            "You seemed quite harmless before."

            "And you wouldn't hurt a fly if it didn't serve you, Theo." He takes the point, and realises belatedly that he's gotten himself into something he doesn't understand.

 

* * *

 

            "She has an unnatural attachment to that cat," Professor Slughorn is heard to mutter on more than one occasion, when Astrid insists on bringing him to Potions.

            ' _That cat'_ is also the source of the only disagreement she has with Amycus Carrow, who makes a disparaging comment about how he will not have 'that filthy beast' in his classroom. Astrid mutters something that sounds suspiciously like 'he's cleaner than _you'_ , and spends the night hanging for it.

            She never talks back again, less because of the ache in her muscles than because, when she'd found him after the ordeal, Theo had been short most of his whiskers.

            "It's a sign of a disturbed society when even cats can't roam the halls unmolested," she grumbles. Theo butts her hand; after the incident with Filch, it isn't as if she lets him 'roam the halls', anyway.

 

            Three months in, he is certain that some suspicions have emerged about the connection between 'that cat' and his conspicuous absence from the Slytherin ranks. However, though pointed glances are cast their way in the common room, nobody remarks on it. He tries not to take it as proof of their inherent good nature. They have bigger concerns, perhaps.

 

* * *

 

            They do not attend the gathering called by McGonagall before the Battle of Hogwarts. There had been no need; they had already decided. Theo had his own demons to confront, and so there was no question of Astrid leaving.

            As it turns out, Theo's demons are a haggard shadow of a man, crumpling under the weight of the Dark Lord's expectation and screaming obscenities at his only son. There are curses flying left, right and center - all of them damaging, few deadly. Mostly, they fall far short of where he stands. It seems his father doesn't intend to kill him, which throws a wrench in his plans. Theo has no abiding fondness for the man, in fact, he would very much like to have him gone - but he isn't a murderer. He had prepared to use self-defence an excuse. In the absence of any need for it, he flounders.

            It transpires that between them, it's Astrid who has the stomach for the Killing Curse. No words are spoken, but the flash of green light that knocks his father to the ground is unmistakeable.

            "I'm sorry," she says carefully, looking prepared to affect it.

            "I'm not," he echoes. She accepts his lie with equanimity, and they turn their attention to more important things.

 

* * *

 

            "You are sorry, though," she reminds him later, wiping at her mouth. They're huddled in a dusty alcove, passing a flask of Firewhiskey between them. They are still in shock. Theo doesn't think Astrid has ever been drunk before.

            He takes a generous swig.

            "I'd been prepared to do it myself." He can hear the doubt in his own voice.

            "You wouldn't have, Theodore," she says disparagingly. "You're a lovely, lovely boy, and therein lies the problem."

            He examines her, an incredulous smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

            "Aren't you a vicious woman." The noun seems appropriate now. "Have you always been like this and I just never noticed?"

            She shrugs.

            "I like you. I have no feelings whatsoever about your father - you never talk about him, anyway, but given that you contemplated his demise, I imagine he wasn't a very nice man. It's that simple, isn't it?"

            "Good job you like me, then."

            "I do get very attached," she assures him, appropriating the flask for another sip. "No hard feelings?"

            It seems odd to be discussing his father's death in such a flippant manner. And yet he doesn't know how else they should discuss it. His father had been at first a threatening figure, and then a rapidly diminishing presence as old age beckoned. Theo hasn't even spent the past three Christmases at the old manor.

            "None," he says. It's the only logical response. He isn't quite sure, however, if it's true.

            She looks at him, pale eyes cold and unblinking like those of a dead fish. Then, abruptly -

            "It wasn't even remotely self-defence, was it," she sighs, seemingly deflating. "I'm sorry, Theo. Sorry for me and sorry for you, and for your father, too."   

            "He would have turned on you eventually," he offers. That much is true.

            She shrugs.

            "Yeh, and still. I needn't have. I'll see you, Theo. Take care." She rises, careful, and though she makes it to the end of the corridor in a straight line, her steps are studied.

 

            She doesn't say when.

 

* * *

 

            He doesn't see her again until they board the Hogwarts express the year after. She looks thin, almost gaunt, and there is grey in her hair. There is another blue cat in her arms. Uncharacteristically, he grabs her arm and pulls her into a compartment.

            "You look like death."

            She smiles ironically. "Yes, we've become great friends."

            He pets her cat. It purrs. He'd never got the hang of purring.

            "Don't be so dramatic. Father doesn't count, he was as good as dead." He still hasn't quite made up his mind on that score, but he says it to make her feel better.

            "I'll try. I see you're getting on with Whiskers the Second. He doesn't look _quite_ the same, he's got different eyes, but I think he'll pass for you." She proffers a bag of Every-Flavoured Beans. "Oh, I'm taking my NEWTs, Theo."

            "Brave of you," he comments, biting into one. "Ugh. What _is_ that?"

            She takes the remaining half and tastes it.

            "Baked beans!" she exclaims. "Are they doing Muggle food now?" She shakes her head. "Ugh, baked beans and sweets, there is _nothing_ right with _that_ combination."

            "I'm not being brave, Theo," she continues. "The less time spent at Hogwarts the better, I reckon, after that."

            Given his experiences at Hogwarts in the months since the war ended, Theo is inclined to agree.

 

* * *

 

            When the carriages pull up next to the Hogwarts Express, Astrid grabs his hand.

            "Can you see them?" she whispers.

            He smiles grimly, putting an arm around her.

            "I've always been able to see them."

 

* * *

 

            That night, when Theo sneaks into Astrid's four-poster bed as a cat and then changes, she gives him a quizzical look but doesn't protest.

            She just asks, "What's this about, then?"

            "I got used to not being alone," he explains.

            "Well, I've got Whiskers, but he doesn't mind if you join our party, do you kitty?" She scratches the cat under its chin.

            " _You_ don't mind, do you?" he asks her. "I won't have it getting out that I've forced myself on anyone."

            "You won't, no, seeing as you're _not going to._ " She eyes him sternly. "That aside - you're my favourite person, no, of course I don't mind."

            Knowing what he does, he suspects that she throws out these casual statements of affection because she knows how desperately he needs to hear them.

            It doesn't detract from the warmth stirring in his gut.

 

* * *

 

            His mother's ring is one of the few things Theo truly can't bear to part with. He's worn it on a chain round his neck since childhood - a chain used to strangulate him on more than one occasion - and then, as he grew, on the smallest finger of his left hand.

            That morning, he slips it onto Astrid's left ring finger before he leaves.

            She confronts him at breakfast.

            "This isn't a proposal," she accuses.

            "It could be."

            "I think that in order for something to qualify as a proposal, something first has to be proposed," she snipes.

            "It's a thank-you, all right?" he retorts. "A token of my appreciation."

            "First of all - don't you be giving away your mother's jewellery as tokens of appreciation, and secondly, what for?"

            He double-takes. "How did you know it was my mother's?" he asks quietly.

            "It doesn't fit you," she points out. "It's too tight, even on the finger you wear it on, and you don't wear any other jewellery."

            He sighs, defeated. "Well done, detective."

            "So," she drawls, "was there supposed to be some other explanation, or can I give it back to you? It's the thought that counts, you know."

            "Keep it," he insists. It's probably as forceful as he's ever been. "I can't lose it, all right?"

            "That doesn't make any sense," she tells him, but there's a light in her eyes that says she does understand.

 

* * *

 

            Astrid does hold on to his mother's ring for her lifetime. She keeps it where he'd put it, and perhaps that's why her admirers don't come within touching distance.

            Theo never tells Travis about it; the man might have his heart, but it's Astrid who keeps his secrets.

            He muses sometimes, listening to the drips of water from their bathroom that remind him of the Slytherin dungeons, that none of this is fair.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For anyone wondering, I'm not entirely sure just how manipulative Astrid is, either. I have it down in my head that she's been watching Theo forever. Maybe she approached him because she had a crush, or maybe she had a plan. Maybe both. I don't think she's violent by nature but she let herself sink a little too far in her self-preservation. I think she genuinely regrets killing Theo's father and knows that something between them is irreparably broken because of it.
> 
> Most importantly, he is in fact her 'favourite person'. I have reservations about her capacity for love, but her attitude towards him is as close as she's going to get.
> 
> Not sure if any of this is adequately expressed?


	6. Hogwarts I

            After the war come the reparations. As Head of his House, Theo spends the summer and a great deal of his final year at Hogwarts putting his affairs in order. He finds himself sat with Malfoy in the Common Room on more than one occasion, silently going through piles of parchment: inventories, letters from the Ministry, bills, statements from Gringotts, new laws enacted since the end of the war. The demands keep coming; he wonders if he could just ask them to take the Manor and its contents and have done with it. Probably not. His father had had a rather large collection of incriminating, albeit valuable, artefacts, and the grounds are still riddled with traps despite his best attempts to disarm them.

            Astrid is exempt from this particular ordeal. She has her own ghosts, perhaps - she wakes in a cold sweat most nights - but the practical realities of the war had largely ended for her with the Battle of Hogwarts. Draco had stood his trial. Theo had buried his father. Astrid had returned to a home little changed by the war, her family shaken but ultimately intact.

            He can't help but resent her a little for that. He wonders if Malfoy feels the same.

* * *

           

            It's during one of these sessions that she comes sauntering into the Common Room, Whiskers trotting along at her heels.

            "What are you doing, boys?" she asks, hauling an Arithmancy book out of her bag to start work on next week's essay.

            Theo grunts, sipping some illicit Firewhiskey as he does some sums on the corner of a page and tries to compose a reply to the Ministry that doesn't sound as exasperated as he feels. Draco, who's perfectly sober, ignores her.

            "Is it the Ministry again?"

            It's Draco who snaps, in the end, and tells her that she doesn't understand. Couldn't understand, as a matter of fact, what it feels like to be selling off family heirlooms piecemeal to meet the intermittent demands, like a great, albeit bloodless, war of attrition. Like a conspiracy against those of them who haven't been sentenced to Azkaban, even against those, like Theo, who are associated with the Dark Lord through devices not of their choosing.

            Draco's mother is not well.

            Astrid flinches but takes it in her stride.

            "Take it you aren't coming to dinner, then?" she asks casually, slamming her book shut. "No, don't come, Theo," she protests when he makes to rise. "You'll get in trouble with McGonagall. You're roaring drunk, I can smell you from here. I'll bring you up some."

            Theo wants to tell her not to bother. Draco will pick at his food, or throw a tantrum, and it's looking increasingly likely that he's going to be sick. It's a good thing their essay for Flitwick is on Stasis Charms. He could probably write that one in his sleep, not that being drunk is that much better.

           The next morning in Potions, he turns his Invigoration Draught a bilious green. Astrid stands in a corner, commiserating with Malfoy as Slughorn expresses concern over his recent class performance and his well-being. Theo's 'always been an excellent student', he claims, and his office is always open. Theo wants to laugh in his face and remind him about the 'Slug Club'. Instead he leans against his desk, fighting the rising waves of nausea.

           Astrid slips him a Hangover Cure before lunch. They don't discuss how this hasn't been the first time. They don't raise the possibility that it won't be the last.

           

 

           


	7. Theo II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The thread breaks, in the end.

            Draco's mind is as clear that morning as it's ever been. He laments that he'd never valued his sanity until it went; there are so many things he wants to put to rights and he doesn't know how much time he has.           

            He and Theo talk about his condition, not at any great length - it wouldn't be like them. It would be more accurate, perhaps, to say that Theo talks to Draco about his condition.   

            Theo simply says that he's always thought Malfoy should go; it's only for Astrid's sake that he's kept mum for so long. If Draco suspects that Theo is, in fact, capable of tact, it isn't because he's been on the receiving end recently.

            Draco doesn't disagree with him. They don't discuss how they're going to put the idea to Astrid, who has power of attorney and has always been clear that his place is with them.

 

* * *

 

            "But it's in your head, Draco," she says, seemingly nonplussed. "What can they do for you that you need to be in a hospital for?"

            "It is in my head," he acknowledges. "That doesn't mean that it isn't real."

            "Of course it's real, Draco. I just don't see what they're supposed to do about it. And they're not going to like you, are they, and what if they hurt you? We won't be around."

            It sounds like the old persecution complex acting up again, but he thinks he knows what it's really about. It's the reason Astrid has always been such a faithful friend, but it's also gone too far. He can see that, now.

            "You can't always hold us together," he reminds her. "Mother tried to do that." _Look how that ended,_ he doesn't say.

            "Best to do it while he has capacity," Theo adds from his corner. He's made up his mind and is shaking cocktails to drown them out.

            "You're not going to drink all of those, are you, Theodore?" Astrid asks worriedly. It's a reasonable concern, given that he now has eight full glasses lined up neatly in front of him.

            "You can have two," Theo concedes.

            "Oh, shush," she grumbles. "It's a weeknight. No, you're _not_ going to drink them all." She casts a Stasis Charm against her allotted two.

            "They'll still be flat and icky by the weekend," Theo informs her, his eyes dancing.

            "Stop wasting perfectly good liquor then."

            "I'd have drunk them," he protests.

            "I think it counts as a waste if you throw them back up, Theodore," Draco interrupts.

            Theo sneers.

            "You're one to talk, Malfoy."

            Astrid frowns at the pair of them, arms crossed.

            "Theo, I'm not a house-elf," she says authoritatively. "Drink if you like, but I've work tomorrow and I'm not cleaning up after you. Draco," she says, her eyes going soft. "Do it, if you think you must. You'll be the best of us yet."  

 

* * *

 

            Some time after Malfoy admits himself, Astrid starts getting on him to sort himself out.

            "I'm coping," he insists.

            "You have at least one drink a day, sometimes with breakfast," she retorts. "I know you were having a hard time in final year, so I thought, fine, he'll get through it somehow, and I suppose you did and very well at that - but you can't go on like this for the rest of your life."

            "I talked to Draco about your father," she adds.

            Before he knows what he's doing, his hands are at her throat. She's so much smaller that he can interlace his fingers with room to spare. The thought gives him pause.

            She takes advantage of his distraction to say, "You don't want to end up like him, do you?"

            Defeated by the phantom sensation of fingers around his own neck, he lets her go.

            "What, you going to kill me, too?" he bites out, staring dully at his hands. He knows it's unfair, but all of this is new and chafing. She's spent the past few years worrying mostly about Malfoy. Now that he's gone, Theo feels like an insect under one of those Muggle microscopes.

            She hops onto the edge of the counter and scoops up his glass, downing its contents.

            "I don't know, Theo. Sometimes you look at me like I'm the source of your misery and you want to be put out of it."

            "That isn't true," he insists. "You saved my life. Or what was left of it," he can't resist adding.

            "You would've been fine. I did it because I missed you, not because you needed saving."

            "Missed me, did you?" He leers at her.

            "I'm drunk, I'm allowed to say things," she says airily, waving one hand in his direction as she fetches a glass and pours herself another drink. "Don't mind me."

            "Have you ever kissed a boy, Astrid?" he asks seriously.

            She raises an eyebrow at him. "Not that it's any of your business, but no."

            "Why not?" he persists.

            She shrugs. "What can I say, it didn't really occur to me."

            He takes a chance, crosses the line.

            "Would you kiss me?"

            She finishes her drink, then looks at him like he's stupid.

            "Theo," she says slowly, enunciating. "You know by now that I eventually do everything you ask."

            He shrinks back against the counter, feeling small.

            Astrid scrunches her nose at the two empty glasses before her.

            "God, I have a problem. I'm going to bed. Try to get some sleep, won't you?"

* * *

 

            He's lying awake in bed when she comes through the door. She flops down next to him.

            "Hey."

            "What?" He isn't in a mood for being civil.

            She moves over him, bringing their faces close enough together that he can see the gold flecks in her irises and feel her toothpaste-scented breath against his mouth.

            Not a kiss, but close enough.

            "Are you doing this because you're drunk?" he whispers, keeping as still as possible for fear of breaking the spell.

            "Yes," she confesses. It hits him like a punch to the gut. Then she adds, "Also, honest," which startles him into laughter.

            "Are you doing this because I asked?"

            "Yes," she says again, poking him. "You had to ask, Theo. I wasn't going to spring it on you. I'm supposed to be the safe place, aren't I?"

            "Am I safe?" More whispering. It's nice, he thinks, to whisper with someone because you're close enough not to have to speak any louder, rather than because there's any danger in being heard.

            "Absolutely the least safe person in the world," she declares.

            "And yet you're here." He dares to close his arms around her.

            "More fool me."

            "More fool you," he agrees. "I don't care, though. I'm going to exploit this relentlessly. When you're in your right mind," he reassures her.

            "What, around you?" She laughs. "Never going to happen." She pauses. "You didn't put Veritaserum in that, did you?"

            He chuckles fondly.

            "No. You're always more honest when you drink."

            She nods.

            "I like that. 'More.' You've caught on."

 

* * *

 

            They get two years, fragile and fleeting like butterflies' wings. A plain silver band works itself onto Theo's ring finger. He achieves some modest success with his writing. The drinking problem waxes and wanes. Astrid travels all across Wizarding Britain, making a name for herself in the nascent construction industry. He mistakes her frenetic energy for enthusiasm.

            And then one day she comes home, downs two tumblers of Firewhiskey in quick succession and says,

            "Theo, are you ever going to do anything besides drink and wallow?"

            Still unaccustomed to criticism from this avenue, he tells her coldly that he wasn't aware she had a problem with it.

            She throws her glass at him. It misses his temple by a hair's-breadth and splinters against the wall. The sound brings back memories of screams and thrown cutlery.

            "Did you miss on purpose?" he demands incredulously.

            The jut of her chin tells him yes.

            "When did you start throwing tantrums for effect? Are you going to hurt me? Go ahead, then." He spreads his arms wide.

            "You're drunk, Theo," she tells him, exasperated, as if he wouldn't have been the first to know.

            "Not defenceless," he argues.

            "You want me to hurt you," she accuses, crossing her arms.

            He thinks about it.

            "Actually. Probably, yes."

            She slumps into a chair, holding her face in her hands.

            "I don't know what to _do,_ Theo. I thought I was making it better. What do I need to do to make better?" she asks imploringly. "Just _tell_ me. _Anything_."

            He realises, horrified, that she sounds just like his mother.

            Like father, like son, he thinks.

* * *

           

            He goes to St Mungo's the very next day and comes home with a diary and a potion that's supposed to make him sick if he drinks.

            "I'm working on it, Astrid," he promises.

            "That's good," she says, glancing absently at the potion as she flicks through channels on the telly. "Drastic measures?"

            He sits cross-legged on the ground and lays his head in her lap.

            "Anything," he repeats.

            She sighs, carding her fingers through his hair. It's getting too long.

            "You're missing the point if you're doing it for me," she admonishes. "But thank you. I guess."

            They sit in silence for a whole documentary.

            "I think I'm going to Tanzania," Astrid says abruptly.

            He looks up. "What? When?"

            "Next month. There's a mine that the Muggles can't get into safely any more. A client wants to look at it and see if we can get any further down with magic. Apparently it had been quite lucrative."

            "Sounds like dangerous work," he comments.

            "Pay will be good." She pauses. "Probably won't be able to get a hold of me for a while, though. Are you going to be all right, Theo?"

            He doesn't know.

            "Yeah," he says, and she flicks him on the ear for lying.

 

* * *

 

            He takes the potion every morning for a month. In the beginning, he drinks in spite of it. It's like some insane compulsion, he thinks bitterly after he's once again gotten too well-acquainted with the toilet. Astrid watches him with eagle eyes, even as she pets him and calls him a 'poor dear'. He spends some days being Whiskers - it keeps him out of the way of temptation.

            Then she runs off to Tanzania.

            He gets one letter. 'All good,' it says. 'Keep well.'

            He's still on the potion when she gets back, but he isn't drinking.

            "Well done!" she says, beaming. And then, "They're buying the mine. It's really exciting! Some of these stones might be quite valuable after all. Eight hundred metres into the ground, it's a wonder how Muggles got that far in the first place."

            Because he knows her, he asks her just what she's not telling him.

            "I'm leaving," she says, grimacing.

            He deliberately misunderstands.

            "Mines again?"

            It makes her laugh.

            "No, leaving as in, not mentally here."

            "I don't understand," he protests. "I'm better now. I'll be fine! Why?"

            She nods.

            "Because you'll be fine, Theo, and I'm not."

            For the first time in a long while, he really looks at her. Her unruly hair has gone mostly grey, and there are purple shadows like bruises under her pale eyes. She's thinner, if anything, than she had been at Hogwarts. She looks ill. Fragile. He thinks back to his mother's illness and wonders how much of it had really been down to her weak constitution. He remembers that it had been his father's hands and not the disease which had kept her bedridden, and this is how you keep a woman in line, Theodore, don't you forget it. He'd never understood why she put up with it, when Narcissa Malfoy always said that she had been a canny enough witch in their school days. Perhaps Theo's father could do no wrong in her eyes. Perhaps she'd simply given up.

            He tells himself that it won't be the same, that he'd never hurt Astrid in that way. Then he remembers taking her by the throat and realises that he already has.

            "Are you afraid?" he whispers, like he can hide the thought from himself.

            "Afraid?" she laughs. "Of you? No, I'm afraid of me."

            "You should be, you know."

            She smiles at him. It's oddly patronising, and he wonders if she's looked at him like this before.

            "You wouldn't hurt a fly, Theo. Not if you knew it was hurting." The barb hits home. "I just can't," she continues, sounding defeated. "I'm sorry. It's not even you. It's just - I think I'm losing my mind, you know? It's just everything catching up to me."

            "Stay," he pleads quietly. "We'll help each other through it. We always have, before."

            "And how did that turn out, now? We're flipping insane is what we are," she counters. "Nobody sleeps. _I_ drink too much, Theo, when you're not looking, and don't you think I've noticed all the paper towels in the bathroom that have blood on them, when it's _not_ that time of the month?"

            "And I'll be just fine, will I?" he demands, fully aware that he's being selfish.

            "I think if you're dead, that counts as fine, yes!" she hisses, then looks abruptly sorry. "No, _you_ don't have a death wish," she mutters. "Got the wrong person." She giggles hysterically. "Fuck it all," she sighs. "Why bother, Theo, why bother. After all, it's going to be all right in the end, isn't it, when we're ten feet under."

            She goes to the window, stares out at the rain.

            "Do you remember when we thought getting through Hogwarts would be hardest?" she asks him. "Just children, back then. It turns out, the monsters aren't out there or under the bed, they're in here." She taps her temple. "And they just laugh when you keep on running and eventually run yourself into the ground."

            She weighs practically nothing when he picks her up.

            "Let's pretend," he murmurs. "Just for tonight. Let's pretend it was the hardest thing and that we've already won."

            She clings to him, sobbing. It puts him at a loss for words. Astrid's always been 'okay'. He's suddenly, painfully conscious of being 'absolutely the least safe place'.

            She doesn't protest when he tucks a blanket round her on the sofa and puts the X Factor on. All those Muggles pursuing their star-studded dreams, when all they want is to stop hurting. She lets him make her tea, rub her shoulders, wash her hair.

            Some time before midnight, he realises that it's their anniversary.

 

* * *

 

            He isn't surprised when the next morning finds her packing to leave.

            "You always did like round numbers," he comments, seated on the foot of his bed. "Fractions in Arithmancy drove you nuts."

            "You and Hermione Granger were the only ones who liked them, Theo," she says placidly.

            "Astrid Clara Larsson," he blurts out. "We have the same numbers."

            "How do you know my middle name?" she demands, eyes narrowed suspiciously.

            He ducks his head.

            "I may have read some of your Gringotts letters," he mutters apologetically.

            "Theo!"

            "You don't really mind," he says, grinning now she hasn't hexed him.

            She throws up her arms, huffing.

            "I don't 'really mind' anything when it comes to you, and that's the problem."

            "I'd never hurt you," he says quite seriously. "Not on purpose."

            "You know I love you," she declares in kind, slamming her trunk shut.

            "Then stay."

            She shakes her head, smiling wistfully.

            "Sometimes what you love isn't good for you."

            "The lease is in your name," he reminds her.

            "Aye," she acknowledges. "I'll write you about that."

            "Can't wait to be away from me?" he accuses bitterly.

            She leans forward and presses a kiss to his forehead.

            "You're stalling, dear. You know you can talk me into anything."

            "Yeah," he admits, breathing her in. "Take care of yourself, all right?" He doesn't reach out to hug her, knowing how hard it would be to let go.

            "Right." She nods. "You too." Her face softens. "I'm just going to the Leaky, Theo. I'll owl. You can come around, if you like."

            "As a friend," he confirms.

            She jerks her chin sharply. He thinks she's trying not to cry, and wonders at the absurdity of it.

            "See you later, alligator." _Crack._

 

* * *

 

            "In a while, crocodile," he mutters later when he's alone, rolling the unfamiliar Muggle lyrics around his mouth. He wonders if Astrid even knows the song.

 

* * *

 

            Theo gets drunk. He also smokes a pack of cigarettes. He spends the next morning alternately being sick in the bathtub and flushing it with the remains of their liquor cabinet. He should've done this earlier, he thinks, viciously smashing the empty bottles and leaving the shards strewn across the floor. He doesn't even care when he steps on them, stumbles, and falls flat on his face on some more.

            It's Draco who finds him that evening, stepping through the fireplace and wrinkling his nose at the smell. Sometime during the day, Theo had recovered enough to turn to face the ceiling. He's been staring vacantly at it, willing the tears to come.

            "Merlin, you're disgusting," Draco huffs, Vanishing the broken glass with a casual sweep. "Also, bleeding everywhere. You realise there's a deposit paid on this flat?"

            "Cleaning spells," Theo mutters listlessly. Where is his wand?

            "D'you reckon that's going to take the stench out?" Draco says, mock-contemplative. "Come on, Theo." He crouches. "You've been through worse than this. Here, let me give you a hand up."

            Theodore takes it. "Astrid Floo you?" he asks, morose.

            Draco rolls his eyes. "What did you think, she was _really_ going to leave you alone, at the mercy of your tender sensibilities?" He lifts a hand to rub between his eyes. "I've had words with her. The problem with that woman is that she can't _enforce_ anything."

            Theodore hums in agreement, remembering the disaster Astrid had been as a Slytherin prefect in her seventh year. She'd never docked any points off him for drunkenness, at any rate.

            "Well, that's where I come in," Draco informs him. "I'm taking you to the Manor, and you're not going anywhere until you sort yourself out."

           

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is officially getting away from me. It was always meant to be a dark-(ish) post-war AU, but I hadn't planned for it to be quite so grim. I think that with Theodore especially, I'm running the risk of writing things I don't know. 
> 
> Someone tell me if this is a realistic picture or if I'm getting too carried away with the doom and gloom?
> 
> P.s. As a bit of an Easter egg - if anyone's wondering, according to the Arithmancy Calculator (google it!), 'Theodore Nott' and 'Astrid Clara Larsson' both come up to (Character Number: 6, Heart Number : 1, Social Number: 5). Not quite intentional but I'll run with it. Although I've heard it said that you should go with what people call themselves, in which case 'Theo Nott' comes up to (Character: 9, Heart: 8, Social: 1) and 'Astrid Larsson' comes to (Character: 9, Heart: 8, Social: 8). 
> 
> Did I mention I'm doing exams?


	8. Draco II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco knows some things about Theodore.

            Theo might have Astrid thinking he's a cute little cat without claws, but Draco isn't fooled in the least. People aren't afraid of Theo because of his father, they're afraid because 'it's always the quiet ones'.

            "Does she know what a little shit you are sometimes?" Draco asks sarcastically one night when they're both drunk.

            The other boy gestures to the contraband bottle of Firewhiskey.

            "Of course she does."

            "Does she know you went after that Gryffindor bint who had the misfortune of speaking about your father to your face?"

            Theo's eyes shutter at the mention of it.

            "I hope not," he says quietly. The poor girl had been laid up in Hospital Wing for a week. No, he'd never laid a hand on her. No, she'd never been the same. Having every painful memory picked over by an irate and, at the time, not particularly skilled Legilimens would do that.

            "I bet you're going to tell me you hadn't meant to do that."

            "I just wanted to scare her."

            "I'm sure you succeeded." Draco pauses. "Is _she_ any good at Occlumency?"

            "Astrid? I don't know, I've never tried." He frowns when Draco laughs at him.

            "The pair of you. She thinks you're a bloody saint and you worship the ground she walks on. You're like living proof that love is blind. Does she realise that that ring she's wearing more or less declares you to be engaged?"

            "She said it wasn't a proposal," Theo mutters resentfully. "Because I hadn't asked. Of course I didn't tell her that, oh by the way, according to ancient customs you may or may not be aware of, it _is._ And accepting means you've agreed to marry me."

            "I wouldn't put it past her to know."

            "No," Theo agrees. "But I'm not going to hold her to it."

            "You like to contemplate the possibility, though."

            "Oh, I do," Theo says with a rare, wicked grin.

            "She'd probably have you, you realise," Draco points out. "That girl thinks she's subtle, but she basically brandishes a big sign saying 'Theo Nott is mine' and 'leave him alone or else'."           

            Astrid chooses this moment to come through the door of the common room, Arithmancy book in hand.

            "Boys, I can't believe it - I just had a civil conversation with Hermione Granger. Oh," her voice falls as she takes in the sight before her. "Five points from Slytherin," she mutters.

            "Hey!" Draco protests.

            "Have the decency not to encourage him, would you?" she tells him icily. "And try to be a _bit_ subtle about it."

            "So you're not docking points because we're drinking, you're docking them because we got caught," Theo deduces, conjuring another glass from thin air and pouring for her.

            "I'm docking them because you're being stupid," she retorts, ignoring his offer. "We're friends, and where there is plausible deniability I'll take it, but I am not _actually_ blind, _Theodore_."

            "Ouch," Draco hisses in sympathy as she strides away towards the dormitories.

            "I wonder what she was talking about, precisely," Theo mutters, downing the shot he'd poured before rising to go after her. Draco can't help but marvel slightly at his ability to affect composure after having consumed nearly a pint of Firewhiskey.

            "Off to grovel?" he taunts instead.

            "Much," Theo says without irony. 

            "'Don't ever grovel for a woman unless she's your wife.'" Draco quotes his father.

            "Go to hell, Malfoy."

 

           

 


	9. Astrid II

            At ten, Astrid's just a baby with her daddy's lopsided smile and mummy's crazy hair. She hasn't decided which hand is her wand hand yet. Granny says it doesn't matter, God gave you both, didn't he? She's not sure she's heard much about this 'God' fellow, unless he's Merlin in disguise. Her parents tell her it's because Granny isn't magic, but Astrid knows that's a lie. Granny has a magic box with people in it and she makes the best roast ever.

            When Annabel goes away to school, Astrid gets lonely. Granny comes and lives with them for a while so that Astrid has some company. She teaches Astrid to knit Muggle and talks to her about Grandpa, who'd been a sailor and served in the war. (Granny had been very brave and raised Mummy all by herself.) Granny makes her and her teddies lots of clothes. They play dress-up and take lots of photos. Astrid remembers years later that some of those photos hadn't moved. At the time, she'd blamed the camera. Her family had let her.

            Granny is Astrid's favourite person.

 

* * *

 

            At eleven, Astrid is excited. Of course she doesn't need a letter telling her she's magic, but it means she gets to go to Diagon Alley and pick out things, and go to Hogwarts with Annabel. It doesn't occur to her for a moment that they might not be put in the same house.

            "What's Hogwarts like?" she asks Granny.

            Granny says she hadn't gone.

            "Because of the war?" Astrid suggests in the too-knowing way of oblivious children.

            Granny laughs.

            "If you like," she says, stroking her granddaughter's little hand.

            It's their secret, but really Granny loves Astrid just a teensy bit more than Annabel. She loves them both, of course, but Astrid is still the baby. Besides, she has her grandfather's eyes.

            It doesn't occur to Astrid how Granny had come to stay for a month and ended up staying a whole year. She goes away to Hogwarts soon enough that she doesn't see when Granny's eyes start to fail her or when her hands cramp so much that she can't finish sewing the bears' clothes she had meant for Astrid's birthday.

            Mummy finishes them and sends them to her.

            Baffled by her Sorting, Astrid is so preoccupied with navigating Hogwarts that she doesn't ask after her Granny at all.

            Granny and Mummy make Christmas dinner together that year, like passing down a torch. Daddy's too quiet. The kids are too busy arguing about whether Ravenclaw or Slytherin is better.

            "It all depends on where you belong, my dears," Granny advises, slowly lowering herself into a chair. "And that Hat's put you where you belong, hasn't it?"

            "I suppose so," Annabel says doubtfully. "But Slytherin is full of Death Eaters!"

            "Language," Mummy scolds.

            "It's true!" Annabel protests. "They don't like half-bloods like me and Astrid, or Muggleborns like you, or Muggles like Granny."

            "But _I'm_ a Slytherin, and I like all of you!" Astrid protests, banging her spoon against the table for emphasis. "Except when you're being mean, Anna." She shoots a glare across the table at her sister.

            "But you don't have any friends, do you?" Annabel declares triumphantly. "They're all bigots. Bi-gots!"

            "Big words," Astrid says coolly.

            Annabel sticks her tongue out.

            "I'm a Ravenclaw. I'm smarter."

            Astrid smiles sweetly.

            "We'll just have to see about that, then, shan't we?"

            Daddy puts his head in his hands dramatically and tells his girls to stop arguing.

            "Sorry Daddy!" they chorus. "Happy Christmas!"

            Later, Mummy and Granny ask Astrid if it's true that she doesn't have any friends. She pouts thoughtfully.

            "Nobody's mean to me," she concludes. It isn't quite the same thing as having friends, and she knows it.

 

* * *

          

            Granny passes away the summer before second year, while the girls are spending the weekend with their uncle. Astrid cries her little heart out and hisses when her mother tries to put her in a sundress for the beach.

            "I'm in mourning!"

            Mummy wrings her hands helplessly.

            "I just want you to enjoy yourself, dear. Granny would have wanted you to go and have fun."

            "Granny was the best," Astrid says morosely, frowning down at the black robes she's making for her teddy bears. "Are you sure she wasn't magic?" she asks, because Annabel isn't wrong that certain people have been saying things about Muggles.

            "I'll tell you a secret. Your Granny was magic in the best possible way, sweetheart," Mummy whispers. "Because she loved and was good to everyone. That's more difficult than doing magic, isn't it?"

            Astrid nods, but she's old enough now to know that it isn't the same thing.

 

* * *

 

            In second year, Astrid tries and fails to make friends. She writes a tearful letter home when she's laid up in the Hospital Wing with the flu and nobody in her class seems to notice a thing. She doesn't even see Annabel any more, except at breakfast.

            Astrid gives up. If she's going to be left alone at Hogwarts, she's going to do it _right._ She makes a point of going exploring - not roaming after dark, of course - answering questions in class and making full use of the library. She determines that she might not be the brightest witch, but she's going to be the Best Student Ever.

            And that's how she meets a tall, skinny boy in the library, with hair the colour of chestnuts and green eyes like a cat's. He reads books that seem awfully clever and always seems to take the corner diagonally across from her. At first she thinks he must be a Ravenclaw - aren't they the clever ones? - so it's a bit of a shock when she ends up across from him one morning at breakfast, the two loners exiled to the end of the table. He makes a face at her that might have qualified as a smile.

            She discovers that it's inordinately difficult to find out someone's name when they're not in your year and don't seem particularly inclined to speak to you or anyone. It's not like it is with Malfoy, who everyone knows by virtue of the hair (and his boasting), or even with Blaise Zabini, who has enough people shouting after him in hallways and the like. It's months before she even discovers that his last name is "Nott". That's all anyone seems to call him. It's like how some of the boys in her year call her "Larsson" like they think it's a horrible joke. Except that they say "Nott" with a sort of cowed reverence that makes her wonder. So he's Sacred Twenty-Eight, so there are murmurs about his father being a Death Eater - as far as she's concerned, he's just a boy who sometimes smiles at her.

            To everyone's chagrin, Mum insists on cooking that Christmas. "It's all the same recipes," she promises. "It'll taste just the same."

            The turkey has the texture of sawdust and the ham isn't done all the way through.

            Astrid turns her sister's hair green when Annabel asks snootily if she's made any friends yet.

            "Festive?" she offers, looking hopefully at her parents.

            They're both grounded for the holidays.

 

* * *

 

            It takes until third year before Astrid works up the courage to talk to her mystery - there's a reason she wasn't placed in Gryffindor - and that's only because he's reading a book on the Fidelius charm. The Mark cast at the Quidditch World Cup has given Astrid an interest. She's aware of being unsubtle, but she's watched him read the Prophet at breakfast and she doesn't _think_ he approves too heartily of Death Eaters.

            She picks up her books as usual, but drops into the chair across from him rather than walking past.

            He looks up.

            "Can I help you?" he asks politely.

            "Yes," she replies enthusiastically, nodding. "I'm Astrid. Larsson," she adds. "Is that book any good?"

            He looks at her contemplatively before setting it down and putting his hand out for her to shake.

            "I'm Theo."

            "Theodore? Or Theophilus?"

            He cringes almost imperceptibly.

            "Theodore."

            "Theophilus is impossibly stuck-up, isn't it?" she says confidentially. Yes, that did the trick, she thinks when he half-smiles, although she doesn't understand what he was upset about. "Do you like Quidditch?"

            "Not particularly. I did hear about the World Cup," he says slowly.

            "Rather off-putting, isn't it?" she comments light-heartedly. If the boy has any brains at all, she thinks.

            He nods carefully.

            "You have a personal interest?"

            She smiles her sweetest smile.

            "Don't you?"

            Surprisingly, the jibe makes him chuckle.

            "Ask me no questions and I'll tell you no lies," he replies solemnly.

            She wrinkles her nose.

            "I won't. Not about that. That's like someone coming up to me and saying, hey, Larsson, is it true your mum and dad are Mudbloods?"

            He hisses.

            "What?" she gives him a pointed glance. "Don't think that's never happened before, or that I haven't heard you join in on Hermione Granger."

            "Why are you talking to me, then?"

            "You're clever," she says honestly. "I've heard Granger say so. I need someone clever."

            "Well." He leans back in his chair, but his eyes look interested. "Why should I talk to you?"

            She takes a gamble.

            "I think you agree with me about Quidditch."

            This time he laughs outright and picks out a book from her stack.

            " _'Animal Transformations'_ ," he comments, giving her a sharp look. "Restricted."

            "Despite her personal misgivings, Professor McGonagall will admit that I'm quite advanced in Transfiguration. I think you'll find you have a personal interest," she says coolly.

            When they exit the library that evening, Theo gives her his arm. If she hadn't seen it for the public declaration it was, she would have found it quite antiquated and charming.


	10. Astrid III

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The first rule of Slytherin.
> 
> In which Astrid confuses manners with good nature.

            Slytherin politics aren't as complicated as Mum and Dad seem to think. There's your name, to begin with, and her name had been a stumbling block to be sure - but there's also: how well you can cast, and who else you know.

            Nobody's taken issue with Astrid's casting since she demonstrated a good knowledge of delayed-effect, suitably embarrassing hexes on Burke in second year. It also doesn't hurt (all right, it's perhaps her saving grace) that she can cast a silent _Protego,_ which Theo assures her is very impressive.

            Oh, and being seen with Theo Nott is very helpful, of course. Not that he's _popular_ , but as far as Astrid's aware, he's as good as untouchable.

            Astrid's well aware of her father's feelings about Death Eaters, so she conveniently leaves out her new friend's last name in her letters. Mum writes to say she simply _must_ invite him over during the holidays. Dad tells her to be careful in the snake's den. Astrid politely refrains from pointing out that she, too, is a snake.

 

* * *

 

            Theo is very polite. He strides ahead to open doors as if he would suffer some grievous harm if she got there first. She has a faint inkling that he would attempt to pull out chairs for her, too, if their meals weren't served at benches. Having been raised by progressive parents, Astrid doesn't know whether to be amused or offended.

            "I _can_ turn doorknobs, you know," she says one day when he attempts to shoulder a heavy oak door open whilst encumbered with what seems to be half the Hogwarts library.

            "Ability is not the issue," he replies quietly. "Of course you can. However, as a lady - "

            "I'm not a lady," she interrupts.

            "Be that as it may, it's in your interests that other people think so."

            She blinks at his unexpected response. Not some useless platitude about the fine qualities of women in general but simply an iteration of 'don't be a fool', from one snake to another. Why not exploit the advantages social convention affords you?

            "Oh. Well then, thank you. In that case, I think you'll find that I'm also capable of levitating books." She lifts them out of his arms so he can get the door properly.

            Apparently amused by her cheek, he smiles as he bows her through.

            He's somewhat less amused when she insists on levitating the books all the way to the library.

            "I have to admit, I'm actually impressed," he comments when they arrive, Astrid collapsing against the wall in a fit of giggles. "You didn't drop them once."

            She scoffs.

            "I'm not incompetent. Now, which is the Charms one you said I should read?"

* * *

           

            "What are you doing for Christmas?" Theo asks her one evening, eyes fixed on his Potions essay.

            "Goin' home," she yawns, stretching. "Why?"

            "Just wondering," he answers, too quickly.

            "Are _you_ staying?"

            "Yule Ball," he reminds her.

            "Who's the lucky girl?"

            "Would you like to come?" he offers, surprising her.

            She tuts.

            "You know, there's not liking Quidditch and then there's screaming it from the rooftops, don't you think?"

            "You can't presume..." he begins. "No-one would take any issue with your _blood,_ Astrid. Not at the Yule Ball."

            "No," she agrees. "Because it's not really blood that's the problem, it's politics. It's one thing to be study buddies, but inviting me to that? Certain people might get a little excited." She glances towards his neck.

            He tugs nervously at his collar but doesn't undo it.

            "I'd like you to go with me," he says firmly, squaring his shoulders. It's not a look she sees often on Theo; he's too often hiding in a corner somewhere or hunched over a book. Astrid has to admit it's a good look.

            "It's the thought that counts," she replies, and tries not to flinch at the way he seems to cave in on himself. "Look, don't be upset - I just don't want to get you into trouble," she pleads.

            "I can handle it," he insists.

            "Don't."

* * *

 

            "I'm sorry you're missing this ball, Astrid," Mum says at Christmas. "But it's nice to have you to ourselves for a change."

            "No fighting," Dad teases. "I thought we'd lose you, you might be asked by a boy."

            "I was," Astrid says matter-of-factly, spearing a potato that's slightly tougher than it should be.

            "Was it your friend? Theo?" Mum asks. "Oh, baby, why didn't you go?"

            "It wouldn't have been appropriate," she answers truthfully.

            "Well, perhaps you are a little young to be going places with boys," Dad mutters.

            Mum looks thoughtful.

            "This Theodore you're telling me about," she asks when she and Astrid do the washing up. "Is he from one of the old families, by any chance?"

            "Sacred Twenty-Eight," Astrid informs her, knowing perfectly well that this included the likes of the Weasleys and the Prewetts. "It wouldn't do for him to step a toe out of line, especially with a girl. He might end up with an 'understanding'." She makes the little quote marks. "And heaven forbid he end up with a girl his father doesn't like." She adds thoughtfully, playing up to Mum's sympathies, "I think his father beats him."

            "That's horrible!" Mum exclaims. "Someone should be told."

            Astrid barks out an incredulous laugh.

            "Do you really think people don't know? He's not even trying to be discreet. He's left _marks_. Like, remember you wouldn't be alive if I didn't need an heir. It's disgusting."

            "Is he all right?" Mum asks softly. "He's welcome here for the holidays, if he needs a place to stay."

            "I'll tell him that if you want to bring Janus Nott down on our heads, I will," Astrid fumes.

            Just like that, the secret is out.

 

* * *

 

            Astrid returns early from Christmas break to find Theo passed out in the passageway to the Slytherin dungeons, cold and pale. Blood loss, she gathers from the state of his clothes. The entire back of his shirt is stained red; she thinks his condition might accurately be described as 'flayed alive'.

            She performs a quick _Rennervate,_ relieved when he opens his eyes.

            "'Stri," he mumbles blearily.

            "What happened to you?" she demands.

            "Father."

            She stills, growing cold.

            "Who did you invite to the Ball?"

            "Your sister."

            "What's he done to my sister?" she demands, panicking. "You prat, why did you do that? You put her in danger!"

            "He won't lay a finger on her," Theo assures her. "He's not likely to hurt anyone who might turn around and press charges, he's got his hands full with the rumours that he's a Death Eater. And why? That's what you get for not going with me."

            "Oh, and it worked out so bleeding well for you, did it?" she snaps. "Pun _fully_ intended! We're going to the Hospital Wing."

            "Don't," he whispers, laying a hand on her wrist. "People will talk."

            "And you don't like people talking about you," she says bitterly. "Could've fooled me."

            "Never show weakness," he insists. "First rule of Slytherin. Eccentricity is sometimes acceptable. Not..."

            "All right," she grumbles. "I don't suppose you can stand?"

            She levitates him to the boys' dormitory - which is otherwise unoccupied, thankfully - and demands if he knows any cauterisation spells. Conveniently and somewhat non-coincidentally, he happens to know several.

            Once the bleeding is controlled, she casts spells to make herself look pale and wan.

            "What are you doing?"

            "Oh, I'm just preparing to beg some Blood-Replenishing Potion off Mrs Pomfrey," she says glibly. "You know, for _that time_ of the month." She flounces off, leaving Theo looking slightly queasy.

            "That is _vile,_ " he proclaims later. "Astrid?" He asks, sounding uncharacteristically hesitant.

            "Yes?"

            "Women don't...you don't lose enough blood to need potions, do you?"

            "Some women do."

            "But you..." he trails off, cringing at his line of questioning.

            "But I'm fine," she confirms, grinning.

            He sighs in relief.

            "Never scare me like that again."

            She gapes at him, gesturing to his bloodstained shirt on the floor.

            "Hello? Pot? Kettle? If you _ever_ do that again I'm going to put so many protective spells on you, you won't be able to sneeze," she threatens.

            "I'm not sure that's possible," he remarks, smiling faintly. "But thank you for the sentiment."

            "Did he just spring you in the corridors or something?" she wonders. "It shouldn't be possible to get in. Should we be going to Snape about the castle defences?"

            Theo snorts.

            "No," he says quietly. "He summoned me to the Manor."

            "You _went_."

            He nods.

            "And he didn't even make sure you were well again before you left."

            Theo shakes his head.

            "The elves might have done," he whispers, blinking. "But I couldn't wait to be out of there."

            "You know this isn't okay, right?" she checks. "My parents never laid a hand on me."

            "There are ways to hurt people that don't involve taking a whip to them," Theo replies, with a smile that freezes her blood in its veins. "This is kinder."

            She shakes off her sudden, paralysing fear. This is Theo, she reminds herself, _Theo_ , who holds books and doors and laughs at your silliness. He's just having a bad day. 

            "You know it's not all right for your father to hurt you," she reiterates.

            He sighs.

            "Different rules, Astrid. As the patriarch, punishing me for my misbehaviour is his prerogative. I don't like it," he acknowledges, "but this _was_ misbehaviour. You warned me," he reminds her.

            "I don't see how asking anyone to a dance is 'misbehaviour'. I said it was ill-advised," she protests.

            "And there you have it," he declares.

            "All right," she relents. "Whatever you can live with."

            He gives her a smile that could almost have been described as tender.

            "And that's the secret to Life, the Universe and Everything," he whispers.

            "Well, we know now why we're not Hufflepuffs," she mutters, clenching her hands into fists.

 

* * *

 

            Astrid never does relay her mother's standing invitation to Theo.

            "Are you _sure_ that boy's all right?" Mum will ask every summer, wringing her hands.

            "I'm sure he's not," Astrid will say, back rigid as she stares into the distance. "I'm equally sure that I don't want his father to come calling." She doesn't mention how furious Theo would be with her for breaking the first rule of Slytherin.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, Theo's been reading the Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy. Don't ask how he got a hold of it.


	11. Theo III

        Theodore's first book is exactly what everyone expected: lugubrious and brooding and darkly funny, years of resentment and malice translated into prose and thinly-veiled as social satire. The aggressive incisiveness of some passages surprises him even now. The photograph his publishers had appropriated for the back cover is similarly predictable; dark hair curling over his eyes, which stare into the middle distance. He thinks they mean for his readers to interpret the expression as contemplative, but he knows better - he was probably thinking about getting a coffee. Or a drink. Just on the basis of probability.

         He doesn't sleep much any more.

         His second book, Astrid describes as “straight-up pornography”. It’s even published under the same name, complete with brooding photo and all, the praise for his last book scattered across the cover in hilarious juxtaposition to its contents. Several critics mistake it for satire when really it’s nothing of the sort: he had really, honestly, wanted and intended to write 383 pages of infrequently-interrupted coitus. Fun. That’s all it had been. It's more well-read than the first, if not better-received, and given the subject matter that doesn't surprise him.

         The third _is_ satire. It's also explicit, in a way that's more "squishy" than erotic, and he's written the sex on purpose to make people laugh. One newspaper review says it's "comical, absurdly arousing at times and at others actually disgusting - it should probably be an achievement".

         He does a couple of video interviews for small literature blogs. Someone asks him if his books are autobiographical. He winks, says, "guess".

         He writes more in the same vein. He writes a scorchingly honest account of his years spent seeking asylum amongst Muggles, because he's done no better or worse than anyone on the "right" side of the war, and how he lives now: with a Muggle man in a small flat that has a leaky tap and a washing machine. He talks about Muggle Studies, learning to use the telephone, and navigating the anachronism that is the Underground. He publishes a small collection of interviews with his fellow Slytherins about what they did in the war and how they've been doing since. (Astrid and Malfoy aren't amongst them.)

         In short, he tries to move on.

         He doesn't make a living from his books, not really. He uses some of the money from his mother's inheritance for the flat and works odd jobs, pretending that he's waiting for something bigger to come along. (He doesn't want anything bigger. The past thirty or so years of his life have been a big enough deal to him.) It's a glorious waste. He has ten 'Outstanding' NEWTs, which is a bit ridiculous, and he can't remember for the life of him why he'd ever thought it mattered. Perhaps because his father had expected him to be brilliant. Perhaps because Astrid had known that about him, in turn.

         They miss the point: Theo _is_ brilliant. He's just not interested.

         He's quite happy in his dingy little flat that smells like damp, where nobody expects anything of him.

         And then Astrid comes along as always, pops up and says, "How are you?" and "I need to ask you something", and all of a sudden he's sat across from Malfoy in a bar, offering to look after his godson. She looks well, and he supposes it says a lot about them that this comes as a surprise. Her hair is still greying - of course - but it's tamer now, glossier, and she has more colour in her cheeks than he remembers. He's glad. He'd worried about her, wondering just who was holding her hand while Draco whipped him back into shape, but he should've known that she would do just fine.

 

* * *

        

         David doesn't know about the magic, let alone the war. He's never met Malfoy or Astrid. He thinks Theo's a bit of a savant, a little out of touch. Theo doesn't care. He needs a body in his bed, is all. David doesn't seem too bothered when Theo gets back from the bar, Astrid in tow, and tells him that he needs to go.

         He looks sneeringly at the ring on Astrid's finger and the way she stands, not quite touching but still too close, and says,

         "Knew you were fucked up."

         Astrid crosses her arms, gives him a hard stare. It's not much use when David doesn't know what she's capable of.

         "What's that say about you, then?" she counters, looking pointedly at the stained condition of his clothes and his unkept fingernails. "At least Theo _washes._ I bet you're using him quite shamelessly."

         "I've had it better, lady."

         Astrid throws Theo an incredulous glance, seemingly affronted on his behalf. Theo wants to remind her that she must have felt the same, because she had been the one to walk away.

         "Oh for fuck's sake, David," he intervenes before Astrid can do something stupid like alter the man's memory. "I don't even care. Pack up and let yourself out. I want you gone by next week. The estate agents will be by in a month anyway. I'm moving." He hasn't decided any such thing.

         He turns his back on the man as he walks towards the door. He holds it open for Astrid, who's staring David down like an actor in a Mafia show. Her unsuccessful attempt at intimidation makes him laugh.

         "You do have a place to stay, don't you?" he asks hopefully when they reach the end of his corridor.

         She giggles.

         "Of course I do. You're very welcome."

  

* * *

      

         When they arrive, she helps herself to the cigarette he's tucked behind his ear.

         "Have you ever smoked before?" he wonders when she sputters at the first puff.

         "No," she says blithely. "You're a bad influence." She says it like it's the truth; with absolutely no malice whatsoever. Maybe that's why it hurts.

         "Says the one who wants me to tutor Scorpius."

         "Well, you're good at that, aren't you? Nine NEWTs." She gestures to herself.

         He smiles wryly.

         "And now you also smoke, and drink, and have killed a man not quite in self-defense." That cocktail with Malfoy might not have been the best idea.

         She scowls, handing him the cigarette.

         "You don't want to talk about it," he states.

         "Talk about it if you like," she snaps, and turns away. "He's _your_ father."

         He grabs her wrist.

         "No," he pleads, letting the glamours he applies so carefully fall away.

         She gapes at him.

         "Holy mother of Merlin," she swears. "What have you been doing with yourself? And all this time it was Draco I was worried about. I wonder why that is, Theo," she admonishes, pulling him into a hug.

         "I'm fine," he mumbles. "It's not like how he was. I can do things."

         "You just can't be bothered," she says knowingly. "I think Muggles call this depression."

         "Oh, I know," he assures her. "Even have the pills. I don't...always, you know," he adds.

         "What?"

         "Wash."

         " _Ew._ " She steps away so they're at arm's length, and he swats at her.

         "I did! This morning!" he protests laughingly.

         "Why tell me that then? What else was I going to think?"

         "Maybe that I had made a special effort in your honour? I mean, I don't smell, do I?"

         "It's not like you knew this morning that I was going to turn up. _I_ didn't know this morning."

         "Maybe I read it in my tea leaves," he suggests, smirking.

         "You're losing your touch," she warns him.

         "What?"

         She pokes him.

         "You don't drink tea!"

         "Maybe David converted me."

         She turns up her nose.

         "That filthy Muggle? Drink actual tea, with _leaves,_ instead of whatever mixture of lint and sawdust happens to be passed off as teabags in the local discount supermarket? I don't think so!" she says emphatically.

         He laughs so hard, he has to sit down.

 

* * *

  

         He should be helping her unpack her things. Instead, she has him ensconced in an armchair with a Replenishing Potion. She's sitting on the floor, poking around in her trunk.

         "Is that everything you've got?"

         She looks up.

         "More or less. Shrinking Charms, remember." She raises a concerned eyebrow, "Are you all right, Theo? You're not... _on_ anything, are you?"

         He holds up the potion. "At the moment, just this."

         She groans. "Theo. Theo, Theo. Please say you're winding me up? You aren't actually. Not again."

         "Just Sleeping Draughts," he confesses. "Well. And the coffee. I'm not drinking again, not like that. I promise," he insists.

         She narrows her eyes at him. "Not too far out of the ordinary for you, and yet I've never seen you so out of it."

         He shrugs. "I manage." Sometimes, though, even he questions his definition of 'managing'.

         "Come live with me," she blurts out. "You know. It'll be just like old times. And I could do with help on rent, anyhow, not going to get a full-time job with this gig on the side, am I?"

         The offer is tempting. "It would make more sense for you to move in with _me,"_ he argues, delaying the inevitable. "I own my flat."

         "And it's a bloody death trap," she retorts. "There's more mould on those walls than there ever was in the Slytherin dungeons."

         "We could fix it."

         "The entire block is a wreck, Theo. It's structurally unsound is what it is. I'd like to see you try and sell that," she grouses. "Whatever possessed you? You're smarter than that."

         "That," he tells her quietly. "I wanted to be reckless, you know. Do whatever I wanted for once in my life. I'd had enough of being the smart one."

         Astrid looks at him with something akin to pity.

         "Theo," she says. "Life's _not_ easier when you don't plan ahead. It might seem like that, but you've a Gringotts vault waiting, don't you, when things get dire? No," she puts a finger across his lips. "You _know_ it's true. Life's not like that for most people. It's not like that for _me -_ I've got to fiddle my numbers now, to figure out how I'm going to live here on a part-time salary. Draco's going to throw money at me if I let him know it, and I don't want his money."

         "You want mine, though," he jokes half-heartedly.

         She joins in reflexively, chiming, "Is that a euphemism?" He watches her falter. "Never mind. Back to the issue - you're one of the best people I know. It hurts to see you doing this to yourself. You're letting people _use_ you, Theodore, and you're not even getting anything out of it."

         " _You_ use me," he mutters without resentment. "You manipulate me shamelessly."

         " _I_ have plausible deniability," she retorts, huffing. "Besides, it doesn't count if it's mutual. That's called being friends."

         That word still hurts. 'Friends', as if that could sum up the entirety of fifteen-odd years spent more or less inside each others' heads.

         "It was mutual, you know," he whispers. "He had something I needed."

         She sits back on her hands, looking at him quizzically.

         "He didn't care," Theo explains. "He didn't know about anything, so he didn't care. He just thought I was a bit mad. He wouldn't have cared either if he'd known, he'd just have used it against me."

         "There's nothing to use against you," she declares emphatically. "Nothing. I thought you knew that. At least from your books."

         He smiles bitterly. "You of all people should have known better. There's everything against me, Astrid. I'm not right in the head. Maybe I never was."

         He curls up in that chair and rocks himself, silently, as he hasn't done since he was a child. Astrid kneels by it, watching for a signal that it's all right to touch him. When he doesn't give her one, she starts talking.

         "I can't believe _you're_ telling _me_ that you aren't right in the head," she says softly. "You've always been the most sane out of the three of us. Well, apart from the drinking," she acknowledges. "Do you remember that time, when you said you understood why I'd been sorted into Slytherin? I don't think you do understand, Theo. I don't care about people."

         "This rather goes against your point." He gestures to himself.

         "I don't," she insists. "Do you remember when I," she flinches, "killed your father? You'd been looking over inheritance laws in your fifth year, remember? So I had an inkling. I did it, and it was nothing, just like the other Unforgivables, until I saw the look on your face."

         "Still missing your point, Astrid."

         "I only care about two people in the entire world, Theo," she tells him. "And even so, I'm happy to leave Malfoy to his own devices unless he's in trouble."

         "But _I'm_ always in trouble," he interjects.

         "You frequently are," she admits grudgingly. "It was part of the attraction. I'm like a fucking Dementor."

         "Why does it surprise you then that I'm fucked in the head?" he wonders.

         Her mouth opens in surprise.

         He grins. "Played you for a bit there, eh? Maybe I haven't lost my touch. You're not really like David back there, you know? _He's_ a Dementor. You want me to be okay, eventually, somehow. Maybe you're not that bothered about everyone else, but there's an conscience somewhere in there."

         "Very heartwarming, Theo."

         He sobers. "No, really. You're a manipulative old hag but you aren't a psychopath."

         "Well then, if we're going to talk Muggle psychobabble, it's not your fault you ended up a masochist, is it? Or a self-saboteur, whatever we're going to call it." Her eyes bore into his.

         "How is it not my fault?" he demands incredulously.

         She throws a pointed glance at the silvery scars around his neck. He flinches.

         "You're not supposed to remember that."

        

        

 

        


	12. Astrid V

            Hermione remembers Astrid from Hogwarts, as a waifish, yellow-haired girl of average height, who'd followed Theo Nott around like a shadow.

            She encounters Astrid again more than ten years on, when she takes on a three-year contract with the Department of Magical Transportation. Strictly speaking, it isn't within Hermione's purview - but they get reacquainted when Astrid comes by her office to drop off some new plans for the Floo network, for 'enforcement purposes'. The years have clearly done their worst: her shock of unruly hair is mostly grey, her complexion pallid, and her wrist, when she shakes Hermione's hand, is birdlike.

            "Astrid Larsson," she says by way of introduction. The last name throws Hermione for a loop; hadn't she and Nott been attached at the hip? "I was at Hogwarts with you. I'm not sure if you remember."

            "Hermione Weasley," Hermione replies, shaking her hand warmly. "Yes, you were very clever at Charms, I remember."

            The sincere compliment brings a smile to the other woman's face.

            "I showed off quite shamelessly," she confesses. "Flitwick was such a nice old gentleman, you know? He always seemed so pleased when we did good work. Charms was the highlight of my day, sometimes."

            Hermione nods sympathetically.

            "But you were very clever, too, weren't you?" Astrid remarks. "Weren't you top of our class?"

            "Not quite, I'm afraid," Hermione laughs. It doesn't upset her now as it'd used to. "That honour has to go to Nott, it seems. Theodore? Speaking of which - how is he doing?"

            "The same as ever," Astrid says drily.

            Hermione pauses, ponders. Finally, she decides to ask.

            "He drinks, doesn't he?" She remembers the stench of alcohol coming off him some days; the same days he would go on to have some catastrophic accident in class when he had otherwise been the picture of competence. Astrid had stood too close to him on those days, keeping an eye out for professors and casting Sobering Charms on him when she thought no-one was looking.

            "So do we all." Astrid's tone is clipped and characteristically defensive.

            Hermione shakes her head.

            "You know, if you need help - if you ever want to leave him," she starts, and is taken aback when Astrid giggles.

            "Don't mind me," she gasps breathlessly. "Funny how people seem to think I need to be rescued from Theo. As if I couldn't leave if I wanted - as if I _haven't._ "

            Hermione can't quite believe her implication that she's ever distanced herself emotionally from Theodore Nott.

            Astrid composes herself.

            "Perhaps you're right," she admits. "He wasn't in good form that year, eh? He'd never hurt me, though. Not Theo."

 

* * *

 

            It's even the truth, Astrid thinks later that evening. Except for that one time, he's never laid a finger on her in anger, and then he'd released her like a hot iron the moment he'd realised it was happening. It's part of the reason why she had, initially, convinced herself that it would be okay. It's part of the reason she keeps coming back.

            The other part is that she's selfish.

* * *

 

            Astrid has done this thing - horrid, ill-advised and morally repugnant - where she's tried to see other people. Oh yes, gallivanting around the globe is great fun, but it's inevitable that you sometimes feel alone in a crowd of strangers. She had thought before leaving that this would be something she'd be accustomed to, but she couldn't have been more wrong. In actual fact, she hasn't been alone since her second year at Hogwarts; Theo and Draco are fucked up and dependent maybe, but they're also irritatingly decent to her and quite reliably _there._ Well, she tells herself it's too late now because she'd been the one to up and leave.

            And that's how she falls into 'seeing other people'. It's bloody awful, really.

            For one, there's the ring. Sometime post-Hogwarts, it'd acquired a Tracking Charm. She can't remember who had cast it, but it turns out that it's there quite as much for her own peace of mind as for anyone else's. She rather likes the idea that she might be found if she ended up dead in a ditch somewhere. Found quickly, that is, and by people to whom it actually mattered. It's a goblin-made homing device and safety blanket in one, and she'd be a fool to take it off. But wearing a ring on one's left ring finger says 'taken', and swapping hands isn't the solution because she's quite aware that actually wearing it at all says 'still attached'. So she takes her Granny's paste dress ring and puts both on her right hand, prodigiously spouting half-truths about the person to whom that attachment belongs.

            When she solves the ring issue, she falls into a 'thing' with a man she'll later call an 'ex' - as in, 'X', for 'terrible mistake', _not_ 'ex' for 'someone I loved but fucked up irreversibly because I'm not a nice person', as in, 'Theodore'. (Truthfully, she hasn't got to grips with Theodore. He has to be an ex-something, because they had been something that they now weren't, but she knows she'll always love him and not just as 'friends'.)

            He's all right, she supposes, although his fingernails are a state. He's only barely decent enough, which would be a refreshing change, actually, if he didn't look like he was having his teeth pulled while he was doing it. In short, he's only being decent because she has something he wants, although she can't fathom what that would be. She knows she's not attractive; she's clever, and spiteful, and she'll do anything for people she cares about, which sounds a lot like a list of the qualities of a purebred Great Pyrenees dog. She even has the hair.

            Astrid's a good game-player but nobody stands a chance when they can't find their King and have nothing to lose to begin with.

            That dalliance is threadbare and petty like a moth-eaten rag and she throws it out when he says he wishes she would dress better and do something about her hair.

            (She does, later, in the privacy of her hotel bathroom when she's done cleaning mascara stains off her face. She turns it honey blonde with her wand and brushes it into submission with some Sleekeazy's Hair Potion. It looks good for a moment, and then she looks down at her faded moss-green jumper and changes her mind. She's drowning in a sea of strangers; she doesn't need to be a stranger, too.)

            She goes back to London for a while and buys a copy of Theo's latest squidgy, titillating, disgustingly-pretentious-in-its-attempt-not-to-be-pretentious thing. Draco sends her an invitation to his wedding. She takes "Nott's best man" to mean "We don't need you".

            She doesn't stumble again for a while. Which is not to say she doesn't see anyone, but she's careful not to get attached. She's thrown by men who expect her to play nice and preen at their attention. She discovers that the chivalry Theo had taught her to take for granted annoys her coming from men who haven't been raised to it but put it on, like a badly-made wig, because they think she has 'standards'. She finds that each dalliance chafes like a hair shirt and smells just as bad when burnt. But she isn't good at sleeping alone, so she develops a habit of talking (lying) through clenched teeth and burning bridges. Life sounds a lot like 'I really like you', 'I want this to last', and teeth grinding together in the night, set to the crackling of the fireplace.

            The next one goes out the window when he dares to voice that he doesn't understand why he can't make her happy. "Because that's not something people can do for other people and you're a bit full of yourself, aren't you?" is what she says, but really it just hits a little too close to home. _She's_ supposed to be the safe place. Yes, it's arrogant as all gets out, but she's survived a den of snakes and fought a war; she rather thinks she's allowed.

            (She doesn't believe it, not really.)

            The last one is a proper old-fashioned gentleman. He gives her his arm, pulls out chairs and tells her she's lovely when she's got earth smudged on her face. He lets her pay for things but not so often as to be impolite. He doesn't question her about the old jumpers or the photos of a chubby tow-headed baby. He never even makes her lie about the ring. It's almost comfortable, and she's almost happy, and he's the one who walks away. "Because it's the right thing to do," is what he says. "I'm setting you free." She tells him he's the smart one, and she's glad he'd caught on. It's honest but not the whole truth; she wouldn't inflict that on anyone. "I almost love you," she admits. He kisses her and lets her go. She searches the room and finds out what it's like to miss someone and have nothing to hold on to. Nothing had changed hands but memory. He hadn't left anything behind because he'd expected to miss me, she realises, and muses that being a lost cause is very character-building.

            When she returns to Wizarding Britain after that particular fiasco, she fully intends to stay. 


	13. Astrid IV

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They've played the long game and done some things they don't speak of.

            Theo had been preparing to hide since the World Cup, and his father's intensifying mutterings concerning the Dark Lord had lent credence to his decision. Astrid, though unequipped with such 'insider' knowledge, had similarly made careful preparations for the worst.

            They talked about the Dark Lord under the guise of Quidditch and the Fidelius Charm under the guise of Quidditch plays. Astrid made certain to be seen at Quidditch games with binoculars and a notebook full of complicated, albeit nonsensical, diagrams. She talked loudly about strategy and odds and some Muggle thing called 'game theory'. Being completely dispassionate about Quidditch, Theo never could make out whether anything she said made the slightest sense or not. He suspected it did, because he'd caught Malfoy listening.

            What was certain was that they wrote little of their research down. Nor did they openly discuss their progress.

            During the final few days of Christmas break in Astrid's fifth year, they tested the Fidelius Charm using her knowledge of Theo's secret, satisfied that it had worked when he found himself physically incapable of speaking about it. After the incident, Astrid handed him her wand.

            "Now, I _don't_ know yet how a Fidelius Charm can be undone, so you're going to alter my memory so I can't do anything you wouldn't."

            Memory alteration, now, they had discussed in great detail. He had been under the impression at the time that it was a matter merely of great academic interest to his friend. He'd had no idea that she would expect him to actually carry it off. He performed the spell with shaking hands and a feeling of great trepidation.

            "What do you think of my father?" he asked her later, innocent as could be.

            "Your father?" She shot him a puzzled glance. "I don't know. You never talk about him."

            "That's right," he confirmed nervously. "Check your Charms textbook, by the way." She'd written herself a note explaining what they had done.

            "Oh." She gnawed on her bottom lip as she read the slip of parchment, then abruptly beamed. "Well, you're a dab hand at this, aren't you? I don't feel like anything's missing at all."

            "You're _sure_ you're all right?"

            "Never been better," she declared.

 

* * *

 

            In the Room of Requirement in her sixth year, Astrid asked him once again to modify her memory.

            "I've left them instructions," was as much as she would tell him.

            He complied, of course he did. He would have braved Fiendfyre at this point, had she asked it of him. He erased any memories related to spending the summer with her parents, and invented a fictional aunt and uncle for her besides.

            There was no note this time; it was better for her not to realise.

           

* * *

 

            The Larssons had had a family meeting the previous summer, where it had been decided that Laura and Mark Larsson would go into hiding in Ireland for the duration of the war. It was Astrid who suggested the use of the Fidelius Charm with herself as both spellcaster and Secret Keeper, stating in no uncertain terms that she would implement measures both to keep herself alive and ensure the secret was kept. Should a Dark victory seem likely, the family would flee to Sweden. Astrid had not divulged that her plan involved memory modification.

            Astrid's parents returned to England at the end of the war, as per their agreement, and met their girls at home. The penny dropped when Astrid carelessly asked after Great-aunt Matilda.

            "You don't have a Great-aunt," Mum pointed out. "Are you all right, love?"

            "I need to owl Theo," Astrid muttered shakily, rising from the dinner table. "I had a knock to the head - that last day. Was mumbling some gibberish, he was there, he'll remember. 'Scuse me."

            Mum came up after dinner.

            "Astrid, love, tell me something," she said, running her hands through her daughter's unruly hair. It was brittle and conspicuously greying. "Have you been meddling with your memory?"

            "Oh, _I've_ no gift for memory spells," Astrid confessed.

            "Has _Theo_ been meddling with your memory?"

            "Only because I asked," the younger witch said defensively. "You know I'd do anything to keep you safe. I've been planning this since third year. Well, Theo and me. You know I only made friends with him to begin with because he seemed clever enough to figure this out?"

            Her mother sighed.

            "Honey, I appreciate everything you've done for us. You've always been so clever, so determined - but I can't help worrying that one day you're going to take things too far."

            "'For the greater good'," Astrid quoted, deadpan. "Sometimes I worry about that, too."


	14. Draco III

            Draco notices Larsson the moment she's Sorted. The Hat barely touches the huge fuzzball she passes off as hair before it screeches "SLYTHERIN!". She, in turn, totters towards their bench as if Stunned. The table is barely crowded. It doesn't make it any less conspicuous when Nott stiffens like a board as she sits down, or when Mulligan, Sorted next, seats himself gingerly nearly an arm's length away. He catches her shooting desperate glances at the Ravenclaw table and spots another girl with the same unfortunate hair, who is looking determinedly away. Against all his supposed principles, he sends her a quick nod of commiseration.

            And she looks straight through him.

            He doesn't think she remembers much from that day.

 

* * *

 

            He notices her again in third year when Burke turns purple at dinner. She's sitting right across from him, smiling like a cat that had got the cream.

            "I think he's choking," she observes mildly. She's not subtle, not at this age. In fairness, neither is her opponent. Burke has a rather uncouth habit of using blood-related slurs in public, not that Draco knows what he's on - he's barely a half-blood himself.

            Their altercations had been so apparent that Snape had gone as far as to check her wand history, he hears later from a prefect. He had found nothing but the most mundane spells.

            Contrary to the purported evidence, Burke develops a habit of alternately choking, breaking into hives and belting out Celestina Warbeck songs at inappropriate moments. He also learns, somehow, to stop using the word 'Mudblood'. Draco considers that correlation to be sufficient evidence for her complicity.

 

* * *

 

            In fourth year, she turns one of his 'Potter Stinks' badges into a small heap of ash with a small furrow of her brow and a blink of her eyes. She also starts hanging out with - or more appropriately, onto - Theo Nott. The association surprises Draco, given Nott's sporadic expressions of blood prejudice. Not that he's ever stooped as low as calling names. He simply seems to believe quite unequivocally that purebloods are raised to superiority, if not born to it. Associating with the closest thing Slytherin has to a Mudblood seems to be another of Nott's rebellious charades, put on for his father's benefit. Draco thinks it's really rather unfair. For her part, Larsson seems blissfully ignorant and talks incessantly about Arithmancy and Quidditch, and Arithmancy as applied to Quidditch. It becomes a regular part of his day to listen in to their conversations at the breakfast table; some of them prove fortuitous.

 

* * *

 

            In fifth year, Larsson starts wearing green, mostly because she develops a habit of putting on the jumpers Nott casts about absentmindedly. Draco suspects that he does it on purpose. The warm greens that suit Theodore suit her too, and she begins to look almost pretty - although she still has too much hair. He catches her pressing Theodore's hand when the _Prophet_ reports that his father has been imprisoned in Azkaban.

 

* * *

 

            In sixth year, she learns to blend into the wallpaper.

 

* * *

 

            In seventh year, she stops trying. Draco is almost afraid to look to find out what she's doing; the rest of her year give her a wide berth. She gets in more than a few duels, silent except for her laughter. 

 

* * *

 

            Later, Draco will declare that his last year at Hogwarts was bearable in comparison to having Voldemort in his house. During the actual events of it, however, he's not comparing. He's too busy dodging hexes and cursed objects and stripping the chaotic war memories from the forefront of his mind.

            Larsson whispers something to him about memory alteration and he curses her for putting the thought in his head. For standing in silent witness to such atrocities, remembering is the least of what he deserves.

            At some point, someone starts spiking his juice. He never actually catches them at it, but he recognises the effects of Pepper-Up in the mornings and Relaxation Draughts in the evenings. He finds the mental space to be grateful that his poisoner hadn't seen fit to slip him the Draught of Living Death. In light of this and his newly-acquired ability to fall asleep at night, he discovers that he doesn't really mind.

            On the other hand, he's suffered insomnia for long enough to have noticed Theodore missing from his bed most nights. The mystery of where he goes resolves itself when Larsson shows up one morning with a bruise on her jaw and Theodore comes trotting in after her, looking abjectly guilty.

            "Well, someone punched themselves in the jaw," he drawls, as if it doesn't bother him at all.

            "I did not," she says stiffly.

            He rolls his eyes. "Glamour it, for goodness's sake. People are going to think someone's been hurting you, and who do you think is going to suffer the consequences?"

            Theodore comes forward with his wand, tilting her jaw gently towards him and tapping the bruise gently. Astrid holds Draco's gaze steadily the entire time, as if to declare that she's not afraid of either of them.

            "How the fuck did that happen?" he hisses to her later, on their way to Potions. Theodore is in the bathroom.

            "He cracked me in the chin with his skull. By _accident,_ " she mutters. 'Which is more information than I'd like to give you."

            "Are you _actually_ sleeping with him?"

            "That's none of your business."

            "I think you can do a little bit better than Theodore Nott," he informs her. "He's so prejudiced he hardly even knows it. I think you do."

            She stops walking.

            "I think you're under the illusion that I care about principles," she says quietly. "I _really_ don't. He adores me, doesn't he? What does it matter what he thinks of anyone else? He's not going to fucking do anything about it."

            Draco goes quiet. "You despise him," he concludes eventually.

            "I know what he is," she replies, which is as good as admitting that she does.

           

* * *

 

            Astrid stands closer to Theodore than ever that year, as if she wants to wrap herself around him and protect him from the world - like a blanket, he thinks, or a shroud. Draco can't blame her for the compulsion to swaddle him in cotton wool. Theodore's always held his own before, the coldest and cleverest of the Slytherins in Draco's year, but now he seems terribly fragile. There's a rumour going around that he had done something unspeakable at the Battle of Hogwarts, and his behaviour makes Draco contemplate the unthinkable. He throws up his food most days, even when he hasn't been drinking. He seems determined to keep this from Astrid, however poorly. Draco finds himself accompanying the boy to the bathroom with increasing frequency. He doesn't hold Theodore's hair out of his face, but he doesn't gloat, either. He's done his fair share of throwing up.

            "You know there's no use in you _standing there,_ " Theodore bites out after one of these episodes. He wipes viciously at his mouth like that would improve things when a minute of vigorous rinsing clearly hadn't. Draco remembers the uncomfortable sensation of sick coating one's teeth and tongue in a foul, gritty, tenacious film.

            "I'm making sure you don't drown in the toilet. You don't want _Larsson_ watching you puke your guts out, do you?" he taunts, even as he casts a heavy-duty tooth-and-tongue-cleaning charm. "Better, you baby?"

            Theodore smacks his lips. "Mm, much."

            In this unconventional way, they grow to be almost friends.


	15. Theo IV

            That last year at Hogwarts, he's invited to the Larssons' for Christmas.

            It isn't even a case of Astrid casually asking if he wants to come, as she's wont to do every year. Instead, he receives a proper invitation from Mrs. Larsson by owl.

            He brandishes it at Astrid when they're safely in the Common Room.

            "What have you done?" he demands. "Why is your mum inviting me for Christmas?"

            "Possibly because she asks me to bring friends every year, and I just end up making regretful comments that Theo couldn't make it and why? Oh no, he's not at home or anything, he's just studying. Or something. I see she's decided to take matters into her own hands."

            "I don't want to," he mutters. "No offense," he explains at her raised eyebrow, "but I don't think your sister likes me, and I doubt your parents will, either."

            "You'd be surprised. I got sorted into Slytherin and they like me just fine, don't they?"

            "They're your _parents._ "

            She rolls her eyes.

            "Don't be such a drama queen. All right, Dad might be a bit off about the war business, but Mum'll like you just fine. This sounds horrible, but you're just another war orphan to her, you know?" She smiles wryly, patting him on the back. "There is nothing she would possibly hold against you."

            "War orphan," he mutters, even as he nicks her quill and parchment to scribble a reply. "Charity case, am I?"

            She laughs at him.

            "Aye, if being made to eat Mum's turkey can be called a gesture of goodwill."

 

* * *

 

            He eyes Astrid suspiciously when she shows up with only a small reticule.

            "Been practicing Shrinking Charms," she says proudly, patting the pouch. "Look." She draws out their Arithmancy textbook, which she's shrunk to the size of a pack of cards.

            "Studying over the holidays?" he asks in mock-outrage. "If you find Arithmancy so trying, you know you could always drop it."

            "I'm pants at it," she admits. "But I don't _dislike_ it. Besides, who'd keep you sober, eh?" She knocks elbows with him and is through the fireplace before he can say a word.

            Sighing, he steps in after her, repeating the address she'd called out.

            He walks straight into the middle of Astrid having an argument with her sister while Justin Finch-Fletchey stands on the sidelines, looking slightly dumbfounded.

            "Nott," He nods, greeting Theo carefully.

            "Finch-Fletchey. What's this about?"

            "She's used Dark magic, is what!" Annabel spits. "I suppose I have you to thank for this?"

            Theo raises an eyebrow at Astrid. "You say she's used Dark magic? Would you care to be more specific? Hexes? Curses? _Unforgivables?"_

            Astrid gives him a warning look.

            "Everyone knows Unforgivables were used at Hogwarts last year," Theo drawls. "It's also known that, given the exceptional circumstances, their use was pardoned. I'm sure there are more cheerful topics we could discuss during this lovely holiday season?"

            "She's put blood wards on the house!"

            "You keep reminding me that I grew up in the snakes' den at Hogwarts, Anna. I know the enemy, if you will. Why do you think I would be willing to take any chances with our parents?" Astrid reminds her coldly.

            "And now you've brought this - _Death Eater,"_ Annabel continues, heedless of Astrid's interruption or Theo's poorly-concealed flinch at the term. "I'm starting to believe - "

            Theo never finds out what she's started to believe as Annabel stops speaking when she realises that she isn't making a sound. She looks accusingly at her sister, who shrugs innocently.

            "What, Anna? You're not looking very well, perhaps it's that cold you had?"

            As if on cue, Annabel sneezes. And again. And again. Noting that Finch-Fletchey seems prepared to draw his wand in outrage, Theo raises his own and silently casts the counter-spells.

            "That was horrid, Astrid," he tells her honestly.

            "It's a family tradition," she retorts. "My dear sister here says something awful and I do something unspeakable."

            A woman, probably Astrid's mother judging from her halo of blond ringlets, chooses this moment to emerge into the living room from the kitchen. Theo wonders if she had, just possibly, decided to wait it out while her children got the 'family tradition' over with.

            "Unspeakable is right," she scolds, swatting Astrid with a tea-towel. "And in front of our guests, too! That goes for you as well, Annabel. _I_ invited Theodore, and you're going to be civil to him."

            She turns to the boys, beaming.

            "Justin! You've grown so tall! You're looking well, I'm so glad you decided to come. Theodore - "

            He coughs.

            "Just Theo, if you please, ma'am."

            "Theo, then. Thank you for looking after Astrid at school. She sings your praises constantly. It's good to finally meet you."

            "Likewise, ma'am," he says politely, pulling out his best pureblood manners and bowing to kiss the lady's hand. "You've raised two wonderful young ladies."

            She blushes. "Oh, please call me Laura."

            Astrid giggles, and Annabel and Finch-Fletchey shoot him scandalised looks.

            "Mum!" Astrid wheedles, stepping between them to hug her mother. "You like him better than me already!"

            "Nonsense." Mrs Larsson pats her daughter's back before releasing her. Her eyes grow wide when they light on Astrid's ring.

            "Oh my," she exclaims, looking between her and Theo. "You didn't tell me you were - you said you were just friends!"

            "I don't think 'just' is the right word for it," Theo mutters to himself, truthfully. He notes with some surprise that, although Annabel looks horrified, Astrid's mother only looks flustered, as if her daughter had gone and gotten involved with a bloke who wasn't a Death Eater's son.

            Astrid slips her arm into his. It's an affected gesture, one she uses most often as a note of dismissal, but the doubts the other people in the room know that.

            "I know you want to adopt him, Mum," she teases. "But you didn't have to go quite that far."

            "So you're not?" Mrs Larrson asks, looking more displeased by this than she had by the earlier implication.

            "I think you may have jumped to conclusions, Mrs Larsson," Theo ventures quietly, trying to sound explanatory. "I always wanted a sister." Never let it be said that he isn't adept at lying through his teeth.

            "Does this mean I get to hex you too?" Astrid asks hopefully.

            "No," he says coolly. "I'll Transfigure you into a tea cosy."

            "Can you really do that?" Finch-Fletchey butts in, sounding skeptical.

            "Considering it's Theo, I wouldn't recommend trying to find out," Astrid assures him. She tugs on Theo's arm. "Come on, I'll show you where to put your things. Did you say Dad was doing some shopping?" she calls to her mother.

            "Yes, he's at Tesco's. Behave yourself!"

           

* * *

 

            "Are your sister and Finch-Fletchey dating?" he asks, flopping on Astrid's bed without waiting for an invitation.

            "You're covered in soot," she scolds without real anger. "Yeah, since fourth year. Yours, I mean."

            "That's a long time."

            She snorts.

 

* * *

 

            "You flirt shamelessly with that boy," Mum scolds quietly the next morning when Astrid comes down wearing an oversized moss-green jumper. "I raised you better than that. Don't lead him on if you're not interested, honey."

            "Mums," Astrid groans, wordlessly Summoning a mug. "In the morning? First thing before work? Really?"

            "I mean it. He seems like a nice boy. Don't take advantage."

            Astrid gives a smile too wry for the girl who'd used to play house with her stuffed toys.

            "Does it count if we use each other?" she asks philosophically. "And of course I'm 'interested'," she pauses to make the little quote marks, "but he's also literally my only friend."

            Before they can go any further, Theo comes into the room.

            "Morning Mrs Larsson. Astrid," he rubs his eyes and nods his thanks when she passes him her steaming mug. "Is that my jumper?"

            "Yeah," she says without an ounce of apology.

            "You have three of them already," he points out, noting that Mrs Larsson is beginning to look scandalised.

            "S'not my fault you leave a trail of unwashed clothes behind you like a house-elf."

            "I thought house-elves left _clean_ clothes behind them. I'm not going to have anything left to wear if you keep this up."

            She smiles at him like a cat that got the cream.

            "Whatever gives you the impression I'd object to that?"

            He looks between Astrid and her mum and realises instantly that he's been played.

            "I would," he informs her, handing back her half-full mug. "Thanks for coffee."

            He hears Mrs Larsson hissing something at her daughter that sounds suspiciously like "I told you so!". The words "Sacred Twenty-Eight" in Astrid's quiet voice give him the chills.

 

* * *

 

            "I had no idea you knew or cared about that pureblood stuff," he comments that evening, sprawled on the sofa like he's meant to be.

            Astrid snorts.

            "I spent my formative years in Slytherin. I knew you were Sacred Twenty-Eight before I knew your name, Theo." He thinks she probably hadn't meant to be hurtful by that, but it's hard to tell. He loves her, but he'd be the first to admit that Astrid has a mean streak a mile wide and from which he is not exempt.

            "You realise one of my ancestors probably just made that up for political gain, don't you?"

            "Doesn't matter, does it? Not if people believe it."

            "I don't," he points out. After a pause, he adds, "You spoke to me anyway, didn't you? Why's this not the same, then?"

            "People would talk."

            "People do talk," he reminds her gently.

            She grimaces.

            "I've heard some of the rumours."

            He tries and fails to smooth her hair down. She bats his hand away, scowling.

            "Why do you get to have the nice hair?" she complains.

            "Why thank you," he replies ironically. "You realise that statement is somewhat irrelevant seeing as we aren't remotely related."

            "Too right about that."

 

* * *

 

            Theo has one of his dreams that night. He's disoriented to find Astrid next to him when he wakes because he _knows_ he hadn't screamed the house down - he does excellent Silencing Charms - and she'd been in her room.

            She gives him an odd look as she hands him a cup of camomile tea.

            "D'you remember what happened?"

            "Please tell me I didn't scream or break anything."

            "You didn't scream," she replies tonelessly, "and you didn't break anything - of ours, but I think you'll find you're rather scratched up on your left side."

            He raises his left arm, which had indeed felt a brief twinge. There are four horizontal gouges running the length of it, and blood under the fingernails of his right hand. He looks numbly at the wounds, and then up at Astrid.

            "I didn't wake you, did I?"

            She blows a raspberry at him, shrugs.

            "No, I couldn't sleep either," she admits.

 

* * *

 

            Laura makes her way downstairs to find Astrid curled on the sofa with Theo's head in her lap. She still has a hand in his hair, like she'd fallen asleep petting him.

            "Children," she mutters fondly.


	16. It'll be all right in the end (when we're ten feet under)

            Scorpius thinks, looking at the ring on his aunt's hand, that she must have loved someone once. Perhaps they had been engaged, even married, for the ring in question is a plain gold band. He doesn't know; she doesn't talk about it. Perhaps he'd been killed in the war. There must have been some sort of tragedy, because he's never seen her show the slightest interest in men.

            And then, sometimes, when he thinks about how absurd it is that he was raised by two people unrelated to him while his parents lived, he wonders about her and Uncle Theo.

            His godfather's Animagus form is a Russian Blue. Aunt Astrid has always had blue cats. He's never seen her cast a Patronus, but he feels sure that it would be a cat, too. 

            Then, sometimes, he wonders about her and his father. They haven't got quite the silent communication thing she has going on with Uncle Theo - she arrives at Malfoy Manor hissing and spitting as often as not - but some couples work that way, don't they?

            He concludes, inevitably, that he's projecting because Aunt Astrid is really a bit like his mum and he wants an intact family of his own.

 

* * *

 

            Theo and Travis don't wear rings.

            "It's more modern," Uncle Theo will insist. (Travis indulges him in this, as he does in everything else.) When Aunt Astrid inevitably gives him The Eyebrow, Scorpius will think she's making fun of Theo's irresponsible, new-fangled, writerly leanings.

 

* * *

 

            Astrid professes to her dying breath that she doesn't believe in regret. If Scorpius believes her - and it's uncertain at this point whether he does, because he's known her for a lifetime and he's old enough - it isn't because he's never caught her turning that ring around on her finger, thinking about what she might have had.

 

* * *

 

            "You need to give it to Theo," she tells Scorpius, referring to the ring on her hand. She's had a short life. She wonders if she would have tried as hard as she had, after the war, if she'd known that cancer would kill her at fifty. It's a sickening way to die, languishing in a hospital bed and helpless against the enemy within. "I'll give it to you now and not make you pry it off my cold dead fingers," she jokes poorly.

            " _I'll_ pry it off your cold dead fingers, you twit." Uncle Theo's voice carries in from behind him. He's come alone, this time. Astrid is civil to Travis, but it's not the world's best-kept secret that she doesn't like him.

            "You promised," he reminds her, voice breaking. It shocks Scorpius, who's never seen his godfather be anything but impassive and irreverently funny.

            "I did no such thing." Aunt Astrid says primly. "I didn't give it back to you, is all."

            "Promises don't always need words, love," his uncle says, kneeling by the bedside and taking her hands. " _I_ promised you something that day. What was it you said? Do you remember?"

            "It wasn't a proposal," she murmurs.

            "And I said it could've been," he prods.

            "And you'd meant it that way, hadn't you, before I threw it in your face," she says wonderingly.

            "We were young and stupid," Theodore agrees. He leaves unspoken, _you should've looked_ and _I should've said._ Those accusations can do them no good now. He doesn't believe it would have made any difference, in the end. They had both tried, again and again, in the best way they'd known how.

            Astrid smiles like the sun. "Well, what's done is done." She echoes Scorpius. "At any rate, he's good for you. You love him, don't you?"

            "Yes," he answers, unhesitant.

            "That's enough, then."

            He lays his head in her lap. The room smells like sickness; he thinks he can hear the chariots of death. He's heard them before, on his mother's deathbed, when the veil had unravelled to a single tenuous thread.

 

* * *

 

            "I loved you first."

            She flicks him gently on the nose - only gently, because there's no longer any strength to her bones. His heart aches a little for that formidable little witch who had, just once, channelled Death through her fingertips. While he's always claimed not to hold it against her, it feels perversely just that she should pass so young. He hates himself for feeling that way about his best friend.

            "No, I did," she declares.

 

* * *

 

            "I'm sorry, Theo," she repeats in an echo of that conversation they'd had after the Battle of Hogwarts. "For me, and you, and your parents. I'm sorry people keep leaving you. I'm sorry at least some of that was my fault."

            "I'm not sorry. I'm your friend," he reminds her, trying to laugh through his tears. "I wasn't sure at the time if it was a pun. I've decided that it is."

            "You would know," she says fondly, stroking his hair.

            It gives him an inspiration.

 

* * *

 

            The morning light sees a little white-haired woman curled up in a hospital bed with one of her cats. It's a departure from protocol, perhaps, but she has no close family of her own. If cats are what make her comfortable, cats it is.

            Her nephew, the frequent bearer of said cats, rings the assistance bell.

            "I'm sorry," the doctor says, confirming that her pulse has gone.

            The young man who bears no resemblance to her strokes the blue cat in his arms. It's evidently a pedigreed specimen, with the most unnerving green eyes.

            "I'm not," he says finally. "It was her time. I think - I don't know - but I think she had a good life." He hears her voice in his head, mocking but fond. _'It's called self-deception, Scorpius,'_ she says. _'Think it for long enough and it becomes true.'_

 

* * *

 

            "You could've made her happy," he does accuse Theo after the funeral. It had been a small one, just him and Dad and his godfather and Astrid's other family. They had all got well drunk - she'd told them that she wanted it to be a party, a 'proper decadent sendoff'.

            The aftermath is deadly quiet.

            His uncle lights a cigarette. Dad calls it a 'disgusting Muggle habit', completely neglecting the fact that he sometimes smokes cigars. It isn't fair, Scorpius thinks, that his aunty had been the first to go when her only sin had been to love too well.

            (Theo keeps her single use of the Killing Curse to himself.)

            "No, I wouldn't have," he replies, blowing smoke rings into the air. "We dated, did you know? More than once. I wanted it to happen, I really did. I would've married that woman straight out of school if she'd let me. I think we were both glad she didn't - I was a drunken bastard, then. And then I always needed her a little bit more than she needed me."

            "That's exactly what she needed, though," Scorpius retorts cuttingly. "And towards the end, you didn't need her at all."

            His uncle stares into the silence for a moment. Nods.

            "I think that's what she wanted, Scorpius," he says gently.

           

* * *

 

            Theo returns that ring to his left little finger. Travis seems to think he does it out of mourning, and perhaps that's exactly what it is.

 

* * *

 

            Scorpius remembers, belatedly, something his aunt had said to Travis when she'd thought the others were out of hearing.

            "Theo? Of course he's a feckin' liar, if you want to know. Otherwise he'd be dead. But he's a good one, and he means well, so don't be minding it."

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is it, suitably tragic (?) and un-tied-up. In spite of everything, I think Astrid did have a good life. Here's hoping you agree with me. 
> 
> There may be more in this universe at some stage, but this is goodbye for now.


End file.
